
Book. 

GopigM . 

COPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






yes 

(O 



/ 




VALLEY OF THE NOON-DAY SUN. 
(See page 98.) 



THE 



Heart of the Alleghanies 



OR 



WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA 



COMPRISING 

ITS TOPOGRAPHY, HISTORY, RESOURCES, PEOPLE 

NARRATIVES, INCIDENTS, AND PICTURES OF TRAVEL 

ADVENTURES IN HUNTING AND FISHING 

AND , 

LEGENDS OF ITS WILDERNESSES 



WILBUR G. ZEIGLER and BEN S. GROSSCUP 



WITH MAP AND ILLUSTRATIONS 



RALEIGH, N. C. 
ALFRED WILLIAMS & CO 

CLEVELAND, O. 
WILLIAM W. WILLIAMS 



Copyright, 1883 
By Wilbur G. Zeigler and Ben S. Grosscup 



CONTENTS. 



IN TROD UCTION. 
The Culmination of the Alleghanies — Area — The Grand Portal — The Blue Ridge 
— The Smokies — Transverse Ranges of the Central Plateau — Ancient Mountains 7 

THE NATIVE MOUNTAINEERS. 
The "Moon-eyed" People— Ottari and Erati — Musical Names — Legendary Supersti- 
tions — The Devil's Footprints — His Judgment Seat — ASacred Domain — Cherokee's 
Paradise Gained — Aboriginal Geography — Sevier's Expedition — Decline of the 
Tribe — Younaguska — A White Chief — The Qualla Boundary — A Ride Through the 
Reservation — Yellow Hill — Constitution and Faith of the Band — Characteristics — 
An Indian Maiden — Soco Scenery . ..... ie 

IN THE HAUNTS OF THE BLACK BEAR. 
Bruin's " Usin'-Places " — Pointers — A Hunting Party — Stately Forests — Wid Medford 
— Sticking a Bear — Trials of Camping-Out — A Picture — Frosted Mountains — Amid 
the Firs — Natural History — ■ In Close Quarters — Scenic Features — The Drive 
Begins — An Ebon Mountain — Judyculla Old Field — Calling In the Drivers — A 
Snow Storm — The Vale of Pigeon — A Picturesque Party — Through Laurel Thick- 
ets — At Bay — The Death Shot — Sam's Knob — Bear Traps — An Old Hunter's Obser- 
vation .......... 45 

THE VALLEY OF THE NOON-DAY SUN. 
The Nantihala — Woodland Scenes — Monday's — Franklin — Evening on the Little 
Tennessee — The Alleghanies' Grandest Highway — The Valley River Range — 
Lonely Wilds — The Prince of Sluggards — Murphy — A Swiss Landscape — An Ani- 
mated Guide-post — At the " Hoe-Down " — Apprehensions of Harm — A Jug in My 
Hands — Pine Torches — The Shooting Match — " Hoss-Swoppers " — Discouraging 



4 Contents. 

Comments — The Fawning Politician — Cat-Stairs — The Anderson Roughs — Camp- 
bell's Cabin — No Wash-Basin— The Devil's Chin — Soapstone and Marble Quarries 
— A Stinging Reception — Deer — A " Corn-cracker " — Robbinsville . . 79 

WITH ROD AND LINE. 
The Tow-head Angler— The Brook Trout — Points — The Paragon Month for Fishing 
— Artificial Ponds — Trip to the Toe — Anti-Liquor — Rattlesnakes — Mitchell's Peak 
— A Ghost Story — In Weird Out-lines — Burnsville — Pigeon River — Cataluche — 
Mount Starling and its Black Brothers — Whipping the Stream — Striking a Bargain 
— An Urchin's Ideas — Swain County Trout Streams — In Jackson and Macon — A 
Grand Cataract — Trout, Buck and Panther — In the Northwest Counties . 107 

AFTER THE ANTLERS. 
The Heart of the Smokies— Clingman's Dome — Prospect from the Summit — Mounted 
Sportsmen — A Mountain Bug-Bear — Charleston — The Dungeon — A Village Store- 
keeper — Beautiful River Bends — At the Roses' — A Typical Mountain Cabin — Quil's 
Wolf story — A Quick Toilet — The Footprints of Autumn — Knowledge from Ex- 
perience — The Ridge Stand — Buck Ague — On Long Rock — A Superb Shot — The 
Buck Vanishes — Acquitted Through Superstition — The Hunter's Hearthstone . 137 

NATURAL RESOURCES. 
The "Tar-Heel" Joke — Tobacco — Favorable Conditions for Gold Leaf— A Ruinous 
Policy — Hickory — Shelby — In Piedmont — Old Field Land — General Clingman's 
Story — Watauga County — Unequalled Pastures — Prices of Lands — Stock Raising — 
The French Broad Tobacco Slopes — Fair Figures — Henderson and Transylvania — 
The Pigeon Valley — The Extreme Southwest Portion — Character of Wild Range — 
Horticulture — The Thermal Zone — Forests for Manufacturers — The Gold Zone — 
Mica Mines — Corundum — Iron Deposits— The Cranberry Ore Bank — Copper, 
Lead, Tin, and Silver — Precious Stones ..... 167 

HISTORICAL RESUME. 
Early Emigration — Daniel Boone — The "Pennsylvania Dutch" — Conservatism — 
The Revolutionary Forces — The King's Mountain Battle — " Nollichucky Jack" — ■ 
The Prisoner's Escape — The State of Franklin — The Pioneers — Formation of 
Counties — The Western North Carolina Railroad — During the Late War — Restless 
Mountains — Scientific Explorations — Calhoun's Observation — The Tragedy of the 
Black Mountains — Later Surveys — Representatives of the Mountain People •. 213 

IN THE SADDLE. 
Mounting in Asheville — A Surly Host— Bat Cave— Titanic Stone Cliffs— Chimney 
Rock Hotel— The Pools— A Sunset Scene— The Shaking Bald— The Spectre Cav- 
alry Fight— A Twilight Gallop Through McDowell County — Pleasant Gardens — 
The Catawba Valleys— On the Linville Range— Table Rock and Hawk-Bill— The 
Canon — Innocents Abroad — The Fox and the Pheasant— Linville Falls — A Dismal 



Contents. 5 

Woodland — Traveling Families — Grandfather Mountain — The Ascent — A Sunday- 
Ride — Blowing Rock — Boone — Valle Crucis — Elk River — The Cranberry Mines — 
On the Roan — Cloud-Land Hotel — A Hermit's History — Above a Thunder Storm 
— Bakersville — Traces of a Prehistoric People— -The Sink- Hole and Ray Mica 
Mines — Cremation — Drawing Rein ...... 237 

BEYOND IRON WAYS. 
Stage Riding — The Driver's Story — Waynesville — Court Week — Prescriptions for 
Spirit. Frument. — Before the Bar -An Out-Door ]ury Room — White Sulphur 
Springs — A Night's Entertainment — The Haunted Cabin — A Panther Hunt — The 
Phantom Millers — Light on the Mysteries — Micadale — Recollections — Soco Falls 
— Webster — An Artist's Trials— Above the Tuckasege Cataract — Hamburg— A 

Cordial Invitation — Cashier's Valley — Whiteside — A Coffee Toper -Horse 

Cove — Golden Sands — Ravenel's Magnificent Site— Hints for the Mounted Tourist 
— The Macon Highlands — A Demon of the Abyss — A Region of Cascades and 
Cataracts- — Through Rabun Gap — Clayton, Georgia — The Falls of Tallulah — 
An Iron Way ......... 279 

A ZIGZAG TOUR. 
The Mountains as a Summer Resort — On the Western North Carolina Railroad — 
Sparkling Catawba Springs — Glen Alpine— Marion — Asheville — Romantic Drives 
—Turnpike — Arden Park — Hendersonville — Flat Rock — The Ante- War Period — 
Ceesar's Head — Brevard — A "Moonshine" Expedition — A Narrow Escape — How 
Illicit Whisky is Sold — Along the French Broad — An Excited Countryman — Mar- 
shal — Warm Springs — Shut-in Gap — Paint Rock — A Picture of the Sublime . 333 

Tables of Altitude, Population, Area of counties, and Temperature . . 371 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE. 

i. Valley of the Noon-day Sun . . . . . Frontispiece. 

2. Unaka Kanoos ......... 13 

3. A Soco Lass . ........ 37 

4. Mount Pisgah . . . . . . . . -43 

5. The Final Struggle ....... 74 

6. The Warrior Bald . . . . . . . .82 

7. A Narrow Water-way ....... 102 

8. A Glimpse of the Toe . . . . . . .119 

9. On the Cataluche . . . . . . .128 

10. Ochlawaha Valley from Dun Cragin ..... 133 

11. On the Little Tennessee ...... 145 

12. Silver Springs ......... 173 

13. The French Broad Canon « . . . . 182 

14. swannanoa hotel ........ 211 

15. Sparkling Catawba Springs ( 235 

16. The Watauga Falls ... ..... 266 

17. Macon Highlands ........ 293 

18. The Junaluskas ........ 316 

19. The Cullasaja Falls ....... 329 

20. Up the Blue Ridge ........ 338 

21. Bold Headlands ........ 354 

22. Cascades of Spring Creek . . . . ... 369 



Dr. W. C. Kerr's Map of Western North Carolina (used by permission of 
State Board of Agriculture). 



INTRODUCTION. 



Oh, holy melody of peace ! 

Oh, nature in thy grandest mood ! 

I love thee most where ways are rude 
Of men, and wild the landscape's face. 

SJFW-HE great mountain system that begins in that part of Can- 
£j^ ada south of the St. Lawrence, and under the name of the 
Alleghanies, or Appalachians, extends southward for 1,300 
miles, dying out in the Georgia and Alabama foot-hills, attains its 
culmination in North Carolina. The title of Appalachians, as 
applied by De Soto to the whole system, is preferred by many 
geographers. Alleghany is the old Indian word, signifying 
"endless." It is ancient in its origin, and in spite of its being 
anglicized still retains its soft, liquid sound. It was not until 
a comparatively late year that Western North Carolina was dis- 
covered to be the culminating region. Until 1835 the moun- 
tains of New Hampshire were considered the loftiest of the 
Alleghanies, and Mount Washington was placed on the maps 
and mentioned in text books as the highest point of rock in the 
eastern United States. It now holds its true position below 
several summits of the Black, Smoky, and Balsam ranges. 

7 



8 • Introduction. 

From the barometrical measurements of trustworthy explorers, 
no less than 57 peaks in Western North Carolina are found to 
be over 6,000 feet in altitude. The more accurate observations 
being taken by means of levels, by the coast survey, may slightly 
reduce this number. 

It was John C. Calhoun who, in 1825, first called particula r 
attention to the southern section of the system. His attention 
had been turned to it by observing the numerous wide rivers 
and tributaries of noble streams, which, like throbbing arteries 
came forth from all sides of the North Carolina mountains, a$ 
from the chambers of a mighty heart. He saw the New river 
flowing towards the Ohio ; the Watauga, the Nolechucky, the 
French Broad, the Big Pigeon, the Little Tennessee, the Hiai 
wassee, and their thousand, tributaries, pouring from the centra 
valleys through the deep gaps of the Smokies into the westerr 
plains, and uniting with the branches from the Cumberland 
mountains to form the stately Tennessee ; the Yadkin, the Ca^ 
tawba, the Broad, the Chatooga, and the headwaters of the 
greatest streams south of Virginia that empty into the Atlantic. 
From these observations he reasoned rightly that between the 
parallels of 35 degrees and 36 degrees and 30 minutes, north 
latitude, lay the highest plateau and mountains of the Atlantic 
coast. 

The region, as measured in a bee line through the center of 
the plateau from Virginia to Georgia, is 200 miles in length. 
Its breadth, from the summits of the parallel rampart ranges of 
the Blue Ridge and Smokies, varies from 15 to 65 miles, and 
includes within this measurement a plateau expanse of 6,000 
square miles, with an altitude of from 2,000 to 4,000 feet. In- 
clusive of the eastern slope, the off shooting spurs of the Blue 
Ridge and the South mountains, the average breadth is 70 miles. 
A portion of the piedmont section, properly a part of the 
mountain district, would be taken in the latter measurement. 



The Gmnd Portal. 9 

The counties are 25 in number, reaching from Ashe, Alleghany, 
and Surrey in the north to Macon, Clay, and Cherokee in the 
south. 

After t'he bifurcation of the Blue Ridge and Smoky moun- 
tains in Virginia, embracing with a wide sweep several counties 
of that state and Ashe, Alleghany, and Watauga of North Car- 
olina, they almost meet again in the northeastern limit of 
Mitchell county. Here, in collosal conjunction, through their 
central sentinel heads, the two ranges seem holding conference 
before making their final separation. The Grandfather, the 
highest peak of the Blue Ridge and the oldest mountain of the 
world, stands on one side ;. the majestic Roan of the Smokies, 
on the other, connected by the short transverse upheaval known 
as Yellow mountain. This spot is poetically spoken of as the 
grand portal to the inner temple of the Alleghanies ; the Grand- 
father and the Roan being the two pillars between which hangs, 
forever locked, the massive gate of Yellow mountain. The 
high table-land of Watauga forms the green-carpeted step to 
it. Trending southwest, between the two separating ranges, — 
the Blue Ridge bending like a bow, and the Smokies resembling 
the bow-string, — lies wrapped in its robe of misty purple, the 
central valley, comprising 13 counties. 

The western rampart range, bearing the boundary line 
between North Carolina and Tennessee, lifts its crest much 
higher than the Blue Ridge ; is more massive in its proportions; 
less straggling in its contour ; but with lower- gaps or gorges, 
narrow and rugged, through which flow all the rivers of the 
plateau. Generically known as the Smoky mountains, it is 
by the river gorges divided into separate sections, each of which 
has its peculiar name. The most northerly of these sections is 
termed the Stone mountains; then follow the Iron, Bald, Great 
Smoky, Unaka, and the Frog mountains of Georgia. Twenty- 
three peaks of the Smoky mountains are over 6,000 feet in alti- 



io Introduction. 

tude, the loftiest being Clingman's Dome, 6,660 feet. The 
deepest gap is that of the Little Tennessee, 1,114 f ee t- 

The eastern rampart range — the Blue Ridge — trends south- 
ward with the convolutions of a snake ; its undulations rising 
seldom above a mile in altitude and sinking sometimes so low 
that, in passing through its wide gaps, one is not aware that he 
is crossing a mountain range, the fact being concealed by the 
parallel spurs rising, in many instances, to a higher altitude than 
their parent chain. In spite of its depressions, and, when com- 
pared with the Smoky mountains, the low average elevation of 
its crest, it is the water-shed of the system. Not a stream sev- 
ers it. On the east every stream sweeps toward the Atlantic. 
On the west the waters of its slopes are joined at its base line by 
those flowing down the east or south side of the Smoky moun- 
tains ; and, mingling with the latter, pour through the deep 
passes of the loftier range into the valley of the western con- 
fluent of the Tennessee. 

From the Blue Ridge is thrown off many short ranges, trend- 
ing east and south across the submontane plateau. In charac- 
ter of outline they are similar to the parent chain. This plateau, 
known as the Piedmont, walled on the west by the Blue Ridge, 
diversified by mountains and hills, and seamed by the Yadkin, 
Catawba, and Broad rivers and their affluents, incloses in its 
limits many beautiful and fertile valleys. The outer slope of 
the Blue Ridge, overlooking Piedmont, is abrupt in its descent 
and presents wild and picturesque features ; cascades marking 
the channels of the streams. Further south, where the range 
bends around the South Carolina and Georgia lines, bold escarp- 
ments of rock and ragged pine-set declivities, seamed by 
cataracts, and beaten on by a hot and sultry sun, break sheer 
off into the southern plains. The inner slope of the Blue Ridge 
throughout its entire length from Virginia to Georgia, as con- 
trasted with the outer slope, is more gentle in its descent ; is 



The Central Plateau. 1 1 

heavily wooded and diversified with clearings. The Smoky- 
mountains present similar characteristics — richly wooded 
descents toward the central valley ; rocky and sterile fronts 
toward Tennessee. 

The reader must not imagine that the central valley or 
plateau, of which we have been speaking, is a level or bowl- 
shaped expanse between the ranges described. On the con- 
trary, its surface is so broken by transverse mountain ranges 
and their foot-hills that, by means of vision alone, the observer 
from no one point can obtain a correct idea of the structural 
character of the region. From the loftiest peaks, he can see 
the encircling ranges and the level lands beyond their outer 
slopes ; but below him is rolled an inner sea of mountains, 
which, when looked upon in some directions, seems of limitless 
expanse. The transverse chains, comprising the Yellow moun- 
tain, the Black, Newfound, Balsam, Cowee, Nantihala, and 
Valley River mountains, hold a majority of the highest sum- 
mits of the Alleghanies. 

The Black mountain chain, the highest of these ranges, is 
only 20 miles long, and has 18 peaks in altitude over 6, 000 feet; 
the highest of which, Mitchell's Peak, 6,711 feet above sea- 
level, is the sovereign mountain of the Alleghanies. The Bal- 
sam range, the longest of the transverse chains, is 45 miles in 
length and crested by 15 wooded pinnacles over 6,000 feet 
high. The parallel cross-chains have, nestling between their 
slopes, central valleys, varying in length and width, and open- 
ing back into little vales between the foot-hills and branching 
spurs. Through the lowest dip of each great valley, sweeps 
toward the Smokies a wide, crystal river fed by its tributaries 
from the mountain heights. 

The great valleys, or the distinct regions drained each by one 
of the rivers which cut asunder the Smokies, are six in number. 
The extreme northern patt of the state is drained by the New 



1 2 Introduction. 

river and the Watauga. Between the Yellow mountain and the 
Blacks lies that deeply embosomed valley region watered by 
by the head-springs of the Nolechucky. Next comes the widest 
and longest plain of the mountain section — the valley of the 
French Broad. The Big Pigeon winds through the high plateau 
between the Newfound and Balsam mountains. The region of 
the Little Tennessee comprises not only the wide lands along 
its own banks, but those along its great forks — the Tuckasege, 
Nantihala, and Ocona Lufta. West of the Valley River moun- 
tains the country is drained by the Hiawassee. 

Geologically speaking, the mountains of North Carolina are 
the oldest in the world. During the period of general up- 
heavals and subsidences of the crust of the earth, these moun- 
tains were the only lands remaining throughout firm above the 
surface of the ocean. Rocks of the Archaean or earliest age 
are exposed, and with their edges turned at a high angle lie up- 
on the beds of later periods of formation. North of the south- 
ern boundary of Virginia, the structural character of the moun- 
tains is different. 

The entire region is mantled with forests to the summit of 
every peak ; the valleys and many of the adjacent coves are 
cleared and inhabited by a happy, healthy, and hospitable peo- 
ple. It is rich in picturesque scenery — romantic rivers, luxu- 
riant forests, majestic mountain heights, valleys of exquisite 
beauty, quaint villages, cliffs, and waterfalls. It is rich in a 
life-giving climate, brilliant skies, fertile lands, pastured steeps, 
and timber and mineral wealth. 

It is of this country — the Heart of the Alleghanies — that in 
the following pages we have treated in as full, concise, and en- 
tertaining a manner as we could conceive and carry into execu- 
tion. 




UNAKA KANOOS. 



A 



THE NATIVE MOUNTAINEERS 




All kinds of creatures stand and fall 
By strength of prowess or of wit; 

'Tis God's appointment who must sway, 
And who is to submit. 

— Wordsworth. 



_,'-E are excluded from a knowledge of ancient American 



$ history by an impenetrable veil of mystery and silence. 
The past has left us only relics — relics of things and relics of 
races — which are interpreted by an unreined imagination. Be- 
fore Europeans set foot on the western shore of the Atlantic, 
before the Indians occupied the forest continent, there dwelt on 
all the sunniest plains and fertile valleys a race well advanced in 
mechanical and aesthetic art, skilled in war and consecrated in 
religion. It came and flourished and perished, leaving only 
monuments of its existence in the form of works of earth, and 
works of stone — mounds, forts, and pottery. The old mounds 
scattered everywhere are the sepulchres of illustrious dead, and 
because of their number, the race has been designated the 
" Mound Builders." They inhabited, among other places, the 

is 



1 6 The Native Mountaineers*. 

southern Alleghanies, the largest number of mounds being 
found in the upper valley of the Little Tennessee. Most of the 
rich mica dikes bear evidence of having been worked centuries 
ago. The marks of stone picks may still be seen upon the soft 
feldspar with which the mica is associated, and tunnels and 
shafts show some knowledge of mining. The fact that a great 
many ancient mounds all over the country contain skeletons, 
encased in mica plates, associates these diggings with the build- 
ers of the mounds. 

The earliest traditional knowledge we have of the habitation 
of the southern highlands has been handed down by the Chero- 
kees. They say that before they conquered the country and 
settled in the valleys, the inhabitants were "moon-eyed," that 
is, were unable to see during certain phases of the moon. Dur- 
ing a period of blindness, the Creeks swept through the 
mountain passes, up the valleys, and annihilated the race. The 
Cherokees in turn conquered the Creeks, with great slaughter, 
which must have occurred at a very ancient date, for the 
country of their conquest and adoption is the seat of their re- 
ligious legends and traditional romances. 

No definite boundaries can be assigned to the land of any 
Indian tribe, much less a nation of proud and warlike mountain- 
eers who were happy only when carrying bloodied tomahawks 
into an enemy's country. The tribe was distinguished by tv o 
great geographical divisions, the Ottari, signifying "among the 
mountains," and the Erati, signifying "lowland." Provincial 
historians have designated them as "In the Valley" and 
"Overhill" towns, the great highland belt between the Blue 
Ridge and Smoky mountains being designated as a valley. 
The ancient realm of the tribe may, in a general way, be de- 
scribed as the headwater valleys of the Yadkin and Catawba 
on the east ; of the Keowee, Tugaloo, Flint, Etowa and Coosa 
on the south, and the several tributaries of the Tennessee 



Beauty of Indian Names. ij 

on the west. There were 60 towns, and 6,000 fighting men 
could at anytime be called by the grand chief to the war path. 
It was the military prowess of these warriors that gave to the 
nation the most picturesque and most secure home of all the 
American tribes. A keen and delicate appreciation of the 
beautiful in nature, as associated with the grandeur of their 
surroundings, inspired them to unparalleled heroism in its de- 
fense against intrusion. They successfully withstood neighbor- 
ing tribes, but their contest with the whites was a contest with 
destiny, in which they yielded only after a long and bloody 
struggle. The ancient nation of the mountains, expelled 
from its home, crippled and enervated, but improved in 
some respects, has found a home in the less picturesque and 
distant west ; but has left a dissevered and withered limb which, 
like a fossil, merely reminds us of a bygone period of history. 

If any one doubts that the Cherokees possessed an apprecia- 
tive love of country and a genuine sympathy with nature, let him 
turn to his map, and pronounce those Indian names which have 
not been cruelly, almost criminally, displaced by English com- 
mon-places. Let him remember too that there is a meaning in 
their euphony, and a suggestiveness in their melody. It is a 
grievous fault, the more grievous because it is irreparable, that 
so many of the bold streams which thunder down forest slopes 
and through echoing cafions, have lost those designations 
whose syllables glide from the tongue in harmony with the music 
of the crystal currents. Of many natural features the names 
are preserved, but their meanings have been lost. 

East of the Blue Ridge, in North Carolina, very few geo- 
graphical names of Indian origin have survived. In the valley 
of the French Broad there is also a barrenness of prehistoric 
nomenclature. From this circumstance it is argued, and the 
argument is well sustained, that there was no permanent habi- 
tation of Indians in these two localities. The villages were 



1 8 The Native Mountaineers. 

located in valley , and were known by the name of the streams. 
In some instances, traditions became associated with the name, 
and in them we have a key to an unwritten scroll. A village, 
furthermore, gave to a region an importance which made its 
name widely known, not only in the tribe but among traders 
and other white adventurers, and thus made it a fixture. There 
is the additional negative evidence of no permanent habitation, 
in the fact that mention is no where made, in the annals of mili- 
tary expeditions against the Indians, of villages east of the 
Balsam mountains. Hunters and warriors penetrated the 
forests for game, and carried the tomahawk to every frontier, 
frequently making the Upper Catawba and French Broad 
valleys their camping ground. While we know nothing about 
the facts, the presumption is reasonable that at least all the 
larger rivers and their tributaries were given names by the In- 
dians, which perished with the change of race and ownership. 

Catawba is not of Cherokee origin. The river takes its name 
from the tribe which inhabited its valley until a recent date ; 
South Carolina. It was a species of vandalism to substitute 
French Broad for Agiqua and Tocheeostee, the former being 
the name applied by the Erati, or "over the mountain" 
Cherokees, to the lower valley, and the latter by the Ottari, or 
" valley" towns, to the upper or North Carolina section below 
Asheville. "Racing river" is a literal translation of the term 
Tocheeostee. Above Asheville, where the stream is placid 
and winds snake-like through the wide alluvions, it took the 
name Zillicoah. 

Swanannoa is one of the most resonant of Indian names, 
though in being accommodated to English orthography it has 
lost much of its music. It would be impossible to indicate the 
original pronunciation. I can, perhaps, tell you nearer how to 
utter it. Begin with a suppressed sound of the letter "s, " then with 
tongue and palate lowered, utter the vowel sound of "a" in swan 



Definition of Indian Names. 19 

four times in quick succession, giving to the first as much time as 
to the second two, and raise the voice one note on the last. The 
word is said to have been derived from the sound made by a 
raven's wing as it sweeps through the air. Before white settlers 
came into the country that species of bird was very plentiful 
along all the streams, and at their points of confluence were its 
favorite roosting places, whence, aided by the scent of the 
water, it sallied up stream in search of food. Hundreds col- 
lected at the mouth of the Swanannoa, and the name was the 
oft repeated imitation, by the voice, of the music of their wings, 
as they whizzed past the morning camp-fire of the hunter or war- 
rior bands, on the bank of the stream. The hungry, homely, 
and hated raven is indeed an humble origin for a name so beau- 
tiful, applied to an object so much applauded for its beauty. 

If the upper tributaries of the French Broad ever had names 
worthy of their character which have been displaced by such 
colloquialisms as Cathey's creek, Davidson's river, Mills' river, 
and Little river, they perished with the race more in sympathy 
with nature than the inhabitants of the last century. By some 
chance that gentle stream which snakes through the flat valley 
of Henderson county, has preserved an Indian ( designation, 
though it is probably a borrowed one. Ocklawaha is the name 
which we find in old legal documents, and its tributary, which 
gives the county's capital a peninsular situation, is designated 
the Little Ocklawaha — a barbarous mixture of Indian and Eng- 
lish. The word is of Seminole origin, and means "slowly 
moving water." It was applied to a river in Florida by the 
natives, and to this Carolina stream by the ' ' low country " 
people who found summer homes beyond the Blue Ridge, be- 
cause of the applicability of the name and its resemblance in 
some other respects to the original Ochlawaha. Reverence of 
antiquity and the geographical genius of the red race, can not 
be claimed as an argument in favor of the re-substitution of the 



20 The Native Mountaineers. 

Indian designation for the present universally used colloquial- 
ism, " Mud creek," as homely as it is false in the idea it sug- 
gests. Ochlawaha is not only more pleasing to the ear, but 
gives a much more faithful description of the landscape feature 
designated, and hence has sufficient claims to the public recog- 
nition which we take the lead in giving it. 

Going southward, and crossing the Blue Ridge and Green 
river, which derives its name from the tint of its water, we 
come to the Saluda range, the fountain of a river of the same 
name. The word is of Catawba origin, as is also Estatoa. 
Toxaway, or more properly spelled Tochawha, is Cherokee, 
but we have' no satisfactory interpretation of its meaning. 

The Balsams are rich in legendary superstitions. The gloom 
of' their dark solitudes fills even the hurried tourist with an un- 
accountable fear, and makes it impossible for him to suppress 
the recollection of tales of ghosts and goblins upon which his 
childish imagination was fed. The mountains assume mysteri- 
ous shapes, projecting rocks seem to stand beckoning ; and 
the echo of cascades falls upon the ear like ominous warnings. 
No wonder then, that it was a region peopled, by pagan super- 
stition, with other spirits than human. It is the instinct of the 
human- mind, no matter what may be its degree of cultivation, 
to seek an explanation of things. When natural causes can 
not be discovered for the phenomena of nature, the supernatural 
is drawn upon. The Cherokees knew no natural reason why 
the tops of high mountains should be treeless, but having faith 
in a personal devil they jumped at the conclusion that the 
" bald " spots must be the prints of his horrid feet as he walked 
with giant strides from peak to peak. 

Near the Great Divide, between the waters of Pigeon 'river 
and French Broad, is situated the Devil's Court-house, which 
rises to an altitude of 6,049 f eet - Near it is Court-house moun- 
tain. At both places his Satanic majesty was believed to sit in 



The DeviPs Judgment Seat. 2 1 

judgment, and doom to punishment all who had been wayward 
in courage, or had departed from a strict code of virtue, though 
bravery in war atoned for a multitude of sins. 

The devil had besides these a supreme court-house, where 
finally all mankind would be summoned for trial. This was one 
of the great precipices of the Whiteside mountain, situated in 
Jackson county, at the southern terminus of the Cowee range. 
There is no wonder that the simple minded pagans supposed 
that nature had dedicated this structure to supernatural use, for 
it excels in grandeur the most stupendous works of human hands. 
It consists of a perpendicular wall of granite, so curved as 
to form an arc more than a mile long, and rises 1,800 feet 
from the moss-blanketed rocks which form the pavement 
of an enclosed court. About half way up there is a shelf-like 
projection, not more than two feet wide, which leads from one 
side to a cave. This was supposed to be the inner room of the 
great temple, whence the judge of human conduct would come 
to pronounce sentence at the end of the world. That this im- 
portant business should be entrusted to Satan is a mythological 
incongruity. A certain sorcerer, or medicine-man, taking advan- 
tage of the popular superstition about the place, made the cave 
his home, going in and out by the narrow shelf. He announced 
that he was in league with the spirits of the next world, and 
consequently could go in and out with perfect safety, which fact 
caused him to be recognized as a great man. There have been 
found, in the vicinity of Whiteside, Indian ladders — that is, trees 
with the limbs trimmed so as to form steps. What they could 
have been used for we are unable to conjecture ; certainly not 
to scale the mountain sides, for such a thing would be impossi- 
ble. 

Old Field mountain, in the Balsam range, derives its name 
from the tradition that it was Satan's bed-chamber. The Cher- 
okees of a recent generation affirm that his royal majesty was 



22 The Native Mountaineers. 

often seen Dy their forefathers, and even some of the first white 
settlers had knowledge of his presence. On the top of the 
mountain there is a prairie-like tract, almost level, reached by 
steep slopes covered with thickets of balsam and rhododendron, 
which seem to garrison the reputed sacred domain. It was un- 
derstood among the Indians to be forbidden territory, but a 
party one day permitted their curiosity to tempt them. They 
forced a way through the entangled thickets, and with merri- 
ment entered the open ground. Aroused from sleep and 
enraged by their audacious intrusion, the devil, taking the form 
of an immense snake, assaulted the party and swallowed 50 
of them before the thicket could be regained. 

Among the first whites who settled among the Indians and 
traded with them, was a party of hunters who used this super- 
stition to escape punishment for their reprehensible conduct. 
They reported that they were in league with the great spirit of 
evil, and to prove that they were, frequented this "old field." 
They described his bed, under a large overhanging rock, as a 
model of neatness. They had frequently thrown into it stones 
and brushwood during the day, while the master was out, but 
the place was invariably as clean the next morning "as if it had 
been brushed with a bunch of feathers." 

But there is another legend of the Balsams more significant 
than any of these. It is the Paradise Gained of Cherokee 
mythology, and bears some distant resemblance to the Chris- 
tian doctrine of mediation. The Indians believed that they 
were originally mortal in spirit as well as body, but above the 
blue vault of heaven there was, inhabited by a celestial race, a 
forest into which the highest mountains lifted their dark sum- 
mits. It is a fact worth noticing that, while the priests of the 
orient described heaven as a great city with streets of gold and 
gates of pearl and fine gems, the tribes of the western conti- 



Eternity Seciwed. 23 

nent aspired to nothing beyond the perpetual enjoyment of wild 
nature. 

The mediator, by whom eternal life was secured for the Indian 
mountaineers, was a maiden of their own tribe. Allured by the 
haunting sound and diamond sparkle of a mountain stream, she 
wandered far up into a solitary glen, where the azalea, the kal- 
mia, and the rhododendron brilliantly embellished the deep, 
shaded slopes, and filled the air with their delicate perfume. 
The crystal stream wound its crooked way between moss cov- 
ered rocks over which tall ferns bowed their graceful stems. 
Enchanted by the scene she seated herself upon the soft moss 
and overcome by fatigue was soon asleep. The dream picture 
of a fairyland was presently broken by the soft touch of a 
strange hand. The spirit of her dream occupied a place at her 
side, and wooing, won her for his bride. 

Her supposed abduction caused -great excitement among her 
people, who made diligent search for her recovery in their 
own villages. Being unsuccessful, they made war upon the 
neighboring tribes in the hope of finding the place of her con- 
cealment. Grieved because of so much bloodshed and sorrow, 
she besought the great chief of the eternal hunting grounds to 
make retribution. She was accordingly appointed to call a 
council of her people at the forks of the Wayeh (Pigeon) 
river. She appeared unto the chiefs in a dream, and charged 
them to meet the spirits of the hunting ground with fear and 
reverence. 

At the hour appointed the head men of the Cherokees as- 
sembled. The high Balsam peaks were shaken by thunder and 
aglare with lightning. The cloud, as black as midnight, settled 
over the valley ; then lifted, leaving upon a large rock a cluster 
of strange men, armed and painted as for war. An enraged 
brother of the abducted maiden swung his tomahawk, and raised 
the war whoop ; but a swift thunderbolt dispatched him before 



24 The Native Mountaineers. 

the echo had died in the hills. The chiefs, terror-stricken, fled 
to their towns. 

The bride, grieved by the death of her brother and the fail- 
ure of the council, prepared to abandon her new home and 
return to her kindred in the valleys. To reconcile her the pro- 
mise was granted that all brave warriors and their faithful women 
should have an eternal home in the happy hunting ground 
above, after death. The great chief of the forest beyond the 
clouds became the guardian spirit of the Cherokees. All deaths, 
either from wounds in battle or disease, were attributed to his 
desire to make additions to the celestial hunting ground, or on 
the other hand, to his wrath which might cause their unfortunate 
spirits to be turned over to the disposition of the evil genius of 
the mountain tops. Plagues and epidemics were sometimes 
supposed to be the work of sorcerers, witches and monsters, 
human and superhuman. Once during an epidemic of small- 
pox, so says a traditional tale, a devil in human form was tracked 
to the headwaters of Tusquittee, where he was apprehended in 
a cave. They saluted him with a volley of poisoned arrows, 
which he tossed back with derisive laughter. After several 
repetitions with the same result, a bird spoke to the disheart- 
ened warriors, telling them that their enemy was invulnerable, 
except one finger which, if hit, would cause his instant death. 
As in the case of Achilles, of Troy, the vulnerable spot re- 
ceived a fatal shot, and the plague ceased its ravages. The bird 
was of the variety of little yellow songsters — a variety protected 
as sacred down to within the memory of the man from whom 
the writer received this legend. 

We return now to the discussion of Indian names, with which 
the narration of incidents, connected with the geographical no- 
menclature of the Balsam mountains has slightly interfered. 
The Indian names of the French Broad have already been given. 
The present name has an historical signification to commend Its 



Cherokee Etymology. 25 

continued use, if nothing more. Prior to the treaty made 
between England and France in 1763, the latter nation claimed 
all the country drained by the Mississippi, the ground of this 
claim being actual settlement near the mouth of that river and 
at several places along its course. International customs gave 
the claim validity, though the English never admitted it. Adair, 
an early historian, says: "Louisiana stretched to the head- 
springs of the Alleghany and Monongahela, of the Kenawha and 
Tennessee. Half a mile from the southern branch of the 
Savannah is Herbert' s spring, which flows into the Mississippi. 
Strangers who drank of it, would say they had tasted of Freitch 
waters." In like manner, traders and hunters from the Atlantic 
settlements, in passing from the headwaters of Broad river over 
the Blue Ridge, and coming to the streams with which they 
inosculate,, would hear, as Adair did, of the French claimj and 
call it most naturally "French Broad." 

Watauga and Nollichucky are Cherokee designations, but the 
latter should be spelled Nouachuneh. We are unable to learn 
the original name of New river. Estatoa, flowing from the Black 
mountains, has been shortened to "Toe." The Pigeon was 
originally Wayeh, which has been simply translated. 

The reader should be reminded before going further into this 
subject that absolute accuracy in the importation of the Chero- 
kee into our language cannot be attained. In the first place no 
combination of English letters can be made to represent the 
original sounds, nor can they be uttered by the English mouth. 
Then again, the same syllables with different inflections 
have different meanings. The English spelling is merely an 
attempt at imitation, and the meanings, given by those who pro- 
fess to know, are- sometimes only guesses. In spelling, uniform- 
ity is chiefly to be sought. One rule, however, should be 
followed implicitly : never use a letter whose sound requires 
closing the lips. A Cherokee said everything with his mouth 



26 The Native Mountaineers. 

open. " T.saraghee " would come nearest a correct pronuncia- 
tion of the name of the tribe, yet in its application to a moun- 
tain in Georgia it is " Currahee. " 

The country occupied by the Cherokees down to within the 
memory of men still living, embraced the valleys west of the 
Balsam mountains. The first white settlers adopted the geo- 
graphical nomenclature of the natives, which is still retained. 
Junaluska, the name of the picturesque mountain group over- 
looking the Richland and Scott's creek valleys, was applied by 
white settlers in honor of the intrepid war chief who command- 
ed the Indian forces in Alabama, belonging to Jackson's army 
in the war of 1812. He was an exemplary man, honored by 
his people and respected by the whites. The State, in recogni- 
tion of his military services, granted him a boundary of land in 
the Cheowah valley, known as the Junaluska farm, on which he 
was buried in 1847. 

Tennessee, the name of the largest river in upper Carolina, 
is of Indian origin, but was written by the first explorers, " Ten- 
nasee. " Kalamutchee was the name of the main stream formed 
by the Clinch and Holston. The French named the whole 
river Cosquinambeaux which happily perished with the old 
maps. 

The principal tributary of the Little Tennessee above the 
Smoky mountains is spelled differently on almost every map. 
The best authority, however, derived from the Indians them- 
selves, through intelligent citizens, makes it a word of three 
syllables, spelled Tuckasege. Most old maps give it an additional 
syllable by doubling the final "e." The English signification of 
the word is " terrapin." There was a town of the same name 
above the site of Webster, and near it a pond which abounded 
in the water species of that reptile. The shells were much 
sought and highly prized by the Indians for ornaments. The 
couplet of mountains which divide the Tuckasege from Cash- 



Aboriginal Geography. 27 

ier's valley, are locally known by the English signification ' ' Ter- 
rapin, " but the original, " Tuckasege, " should be restored. 

Ocona Lufta, the name of the pearly stream which flows 
through the Indian settlement, is derived from its having been 
a nesting place for ducks and other water fowls. One of its 
affluents, the Colehmayeh, is derived from Coleh, "raven," and 
Mayeh, "water." The English " Raven's fork" is in common use 
among the whites. Soco, the name of another tributary of the 
Lufta, means " one. " 

Charlestown, in Swain county, occupies the ancient site of 
the Indian village of Younaahqua or Big Bear. Wesuh, meaning 
" cat," has taken the colloquialism Conley's creek for its name. 
The post hamlet of Qualla town, in the present Cherokee settle- 
ment, is an English name modified to suit the Indian tongue. 
A white woman named Polly, familiarly " Aunt Polly," opened 
a small store. Her Indian customers, unable to give the sound 
of "p," their speech being open-mouthed, substituted the "q" 
sound, which came into general use and finally changed the 
word. Qualla is a very common name for Indian women. 

The euphonious name Nantahala seems to be little under- 
stood. The most commonly given interpretation is "maiden's 
bosom," though that meaning can only be derived by a stretch 
of metaphor. If the word, as supposed by some interpreters, 
is compounded of Nantaseh and Eylee, it means ' ' between 
ridges," whence by far-fetched simile "maiden's bosom." But 
it is more probably compounded of Nantaseh and Eyalee, which 
literally means "The sun between," or "half way," hence 
" noonday sun. " 

The Hiawassee was known among the earliest explorers as 
the Euphrasee, which was perhaps the name applied by a more 
southern tribe. The largest affluent of the Hiawassee is the 
Valley river, known by the Cherokees as Ahmachunahut, mean- 
ing " long stream." 



28 The Native Mountaineers. 

Cullasaja is the old name of that tributary of the Little Ten- 
nessee which heads in the Macon highlands, and is noted for 
the beauty of its cascades. The English signification of the 
word is " sweet water." Sugar fork is the local designation, 
though the maps preserve the old and rich sounding original. 

Satoola, the name of a high peak overlooking the upper 
Macon plateau, has been mercilessly pruned to "Stooley." 
Horse Cove is the homely appellation of a parquet-shaped valley 
within the curved precipice which leads from Satoola to White- 
sides. Sequilla, the old Indian name, has a much better sound. 
Cowee, the designation of the great transverse chain which 
divides the Tuckasege from the Tennessee is a corruption of 
Keowe, the form which still attaches to the river. It means 
" near," or "at hand. " 

The writers regret that they are unable to give the meaning 
of all the words of Indian origin which appear upon the map. 
They regret still more that they are unable to restore to all 
places of general interest the rich accents of the Cherokee 
tongue. It is a subject which will require long and patient 
study. Public interest must also be aroused, so that designa- 
tions long since laid aside, when made known, will be locally 
applied. 

We will now trace the rapid decline of the most warlike of all 
the Indian tribes, and conclude with an account of the remnant 
band known as the Eastern Cherokees. One of the first white 
invasions of the picturesque dominion of the ancient tribe was 
made by slave traders, late in the seventeenth century, in the 
interest of West India planters. Hundreds of strong warriors 
were bound and carried from Arcadia and freedom to malarious 
swamps and bondage, where they soon sank under the burden 
of oppressive labor. Cherokees made better slaves than any 
other Indians, on account of their superior strength and intelli- 
gence, and consequently were the most sought. Neighboring 



Decline of the Tribe. 29 

tribes were incited to make war upon them by the offer of prizes 
for captives. After long suffering and much bloodshed, the 
governor of Carolina, in response to the solicitations of the 
head men of the tribe, interposed the authority of his govern- 
ment. The Cherokee nation in return acknowledged Great Brit- 
ain as its protector, and permitted the erection of British forts 
within its territory. Emissaries of France attempted to win 
the allegiance of these Indians with presents of gaudy blankets, 
and arms for the chase. While their affections vacillated be- 
tween the two nations, the tribe proved loyal in the end to its 
first vow. In the French war in the year 1757, the Chero- 
kees bore arms against France, with which nation most of the 
red race were in alliance. On their return from the forks of the 
Ohio, after the fall of Fort Duquesne, being poorly fed, they 
raided the settlements and carried away a large number of negro 
slaves. These taught their masters the elements of farming. 

The Cherokees remained loyal to the king during the Revolu- 
tion, and, associated with tory guerrillas, engaged in many acts 
of bloody violence. The transmontane settlement, on the Hol- 
ston in East Tennessee, was the chief object of the tribe's ma- 
lignant jealousy. For six years, the little band of settlers held 
their lives in their hands, struggling incessantly with blood- 
thirsty foes and slowly devouring poverty. 

The Indians themselves suffered incursions from both sides of 
the mountains. Their villages on the Tuckasege, Little Ten- 
nessee and the Hiawassee were frequently destroyed, the coun- 
try pillaged, corn burned and ponies led away. Ramsey thus 
describes an expedition of Tennesseeans under command of 
Colonel John Sevier, the lion of the western border : 

"The command, consisting of 120 men, went up Cane creek 
(from the Holston), crossed Ivy and Swanannoa, " thence 
through Balsam gap to the Tuckasege. "He entered and took 
by surprise the town of Tuckasege. Fifty warriors were slain, 



30 The Native Mountaineers. 

and fifty women and children taken prisoners. In that vicinity 
the troops under Sevier burnt 15 or 20 towns and all 
the graneries of corn they could find. It was a hard and dis- 
agreeable necessity that led to the adoption of these apparently 
cruel measures." The lower and valley towns afterwards .suf- 
fered a similar fate. 

An incident illustrative of the times is associated with the 
naming of Fine's creek in Haywood county. The Indians were 
in the habit of making sallies down the Pigeon into the Ten- 
nessee settlements, then returning to their mountain fastnesses. 
On one of these expeditions they were routed and followed by 
Peter Fine and a company of plucky militia. The Indians 
were overtaken in camp beyond the mountains, one killed and 
the property recovered. The whites were in turn followed by 
the Indians, and, while sustaining a night attack, Vinet Fine, the 
major's brother, was killed. A hole was cut in the ice, and, to 
conceal the body from the savages, it was dropped into the 
creek. It is appropriate, therefore, that the stream should be 
called Fine's creek. 

Soon after the Revolution the Cherokees made a session of 
all their lands between the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers. 
More than 12,000 Indians were present at the council. Mon- 
nette's History gives the prophetic speech of an old chief — 
Oconnastotee. He began by describing the flourishing condi- 
tion of his nation in the past, and the encroachments of the 
whites upon the retiring and expiring tribes of Indians, who 
left their homes and the seats of their ancestors to gratify the 
insatiable thirst of the white people for more land. Whole na- 
tions had melted away, and had left their names only as rec- 
orded by their enemies and destroyers. It was once hoped that 
they would not be willing to travel beyond the mountains so 
far from the ocean on which their commerce was carried on. 
That fallacious hope had vanished, for the whites had already 



Land Grants and Treaties. 31 

settled on the Cherokee lands, and now wished to have their 
usurpations sanctioned by treaty. When that shall have been 
done new sessions will be applied for, and finally the country 
which the Cherokees and their forefathers occupied will be ap- 
plied for. The small remnant which may then exist of this 
once great and powerful nation will be compelled to seek a new 
home in some far distant wilderness. 

But a few years elapsed before the beginning of the fulfill- 
ment of this prophesy. Emigration after the Revolution be- 
came a mania. The Watauga passes were filled with teams en 
route for the Holston valley, and roads were constructed up the 
Blue Ridge to the garden valley of the upper French Broad. 

The Indians were soon forced to retire beyond the Balsams, 
into the valley of the Little Tennessee and its upper branches. 
Tennessee acquired, by purchase and otherwise, most of the 
Cherokee territory in that state, while Georgia adopted a harsh 
and oppressive policy, calculated to produce discontent. As 
early as 1790, a band of low country Cherokees emigrated 
beyond the Mississippi, from which time, as the hunting 
grounds became more and more contracted, discouragement 
.and a desire to go west, became general among the clans below 
the Smoky mountains and Blue Ridge. Several treaties ceding 
portions of their domain were made, and finally a faction repre- 
senting themselves as agents of the tribe, in 1835 surrendered 
" all rights, title, and possession to all the lands owned and 
occupied by the Cherokee Indians," in exchange for lands west 
of the Mississippi. The North Carolina Indians and a portion 
of those in Georgia and Tennessee protested vigorously against 
the terms of the treaty. Under the leadership of the proud 
warrior Junaluska, they were among the most valiant of General 
Jackson's soldiers in the second war with Great Britain. They 
now vainly appealed to the same General Jackson as President 



32 The Native Mountaineers. 

of the United States, for the privilege of remaining in the land 
of their fathers. 

By a treaty made in 1819 the Cherokees had ceded all their 
lands, " saving and reserving one section for each family who 
chose to remain." The clans that desired to emigrate were 
given lands and transportation. The treaty of 1835 provided 
for an exchange of all the eastern reservations for lands in the 
west, without discretion ; but through the influence of Colonel 
W. H. Thomas, the treaty was so modified that certain towns 
were to have money compensation for their reservations under 
the treaty of 18 19, with which to purchase new homes in their 
native land. These were to be held in fee simple by as many as 
chose to remain. % 

A large percentage of the tribe denied the validity of the 
treaty altogether, and only yielded when the force of General 
Scott's army was brought to bear, in 1837. It is in those who 
accepted the advice and offices of Colonel Thomas, and remained 
in North Carolina, we are chiefly interested. Their kin who 
voluntarily emigrated or were driven Avest of the Mississippi 
have progressed steadily in the useful arts, have schools, 
churches, farms and cattle. 

The Eastern Band, as those who remained and purchased 
farms, and their descendants are known, has been steadily de- 
creasing in numbers, there being at present but slightly above 
1 100 souls. 

Colonel Thomi s, who was, until recent years, the chief of 
the band, was born in the Pigeon river valley, and, at a very 
early age, left an orphan. Felix Walker, the Congressional 
representative from the Western North Carolina district, had two 
stores, one at Waynesville and one in the Indian country, on 
Soco, in which latter store young Thomas was placed as clerk. 
Most of the customers being Indians, he soon learned to speak 
and write Cherokee. These linguistic attainments made him 



Charactej" of Chief Younaguska. ^ 

invaluable to the tribe for the transaction of public and private 
business. Younaguska (Drowning Bear), the reigning chief, 
adopted the lad into his family and tribe, and gave him entire 
clerical charge of public affairs. 

The chief, Younaguska, was an extraordinary Indian. He 
was acute, vigorous, and determined; qualities which made him 
both respected and feared by his people. He knew how to con- 
trol their weaknesses and use their superstitions. 

The Cherokees, like all Indians who come in contact with the 
whites, became intemperate. Younaguska, though himself ad- 
dicted to the use of whisky to excess, determined upon a 
reformation of his people. He sank into a trance, so heavy 
that the whole town supposed him to be dead, though some 
signs of life remained. Anxiously they watched and waited for 
fifteen days, when it was determined to perform the funeral 
rites according to their ancient usages. The tribe assembled. 
The plaintive notes of the funeral song began to mingle with 
the roll of the Lufty. They marched and counter-marched, 
1,200 of them, around the prostrate body of their chief. Then 
came a sudden pause and fright, for the dead had returned to 
life ! An old familiar voice was summoning their attention. 
He spoke with deep feeling, telling his people that he had been 
in a trance ; that he had communed with the great spirit ; that 
his long service for his people was not yet ended ; he was to re- 
main with them as many years as he had been days in the 
" happy hunting ground." 

Having thus given to his speech the authority of inspiration, 
he proceeded to tell them that he had served them^ upwards of 
40 years without any pecuniary consideration whatever. His 
sole aim had been to promote their good. Their happiness in 
the future was his chief concern. He was convinced that 
intemperance was the cause of the extermination of the Indian 
tribes who lived in contact with the whites. As an example 



34 The Native Mountaineers. 

he referred to the previous and present condition of the Cataw- 
bas, with whom they were acquainted. He deplored the scenes 
of dissipation so common among his own people, and closed by 
directing Mr. Thomas, from whom this account has been 
derived, to write the following pledge: "The undersigned 
Cherokees, belonging to the town of Qualla, agree to abandon 
the use of spirituous liquors." The old chief signed first and 
was followed by the whole town. This pledge was enforced with 
the rigor of a written law, its violation in every instance 
being punished at the public whipping post. Younaguska 
expressed pleasure in the knowledge that his people confided 
in him. He advised them to remain where they were, in North 
Carolina, a State more friendly and better disposed toward the 
red man than any other. Should they remove west they would 
there too soon be surrounded by the whites and perhaps 
included in a State disposed to oppress them. 

Younaguska's influence over them Avas well nigh omnipotent, 
and was exerted uniformly with a view to their improvement. 
Colonel Thomas, whose acquaintance with public men was 
extensive, has declared that this old Indian was the intellectual 
peer of John C. Calhoun. There is certainly a place in history 
for the individual, whatever be his race, who can elevate a band 
of warriors and hunters into a community of agriculturists, capa- 
ble of raising their own food and manufacturing their own 
clothing. 

Before Younaguska died he assembled his people and pub- 
licly willed the chieftainship to his clerk, friend and adopted 
son, W. H. Thomas, whom he commended as worthy of respect 
and whom he adjured them to obey as they had obeyed him. 
He was going to the home provided for him by the great spirit" 
he would always keep watch over his people and would be 
grieved to see any of them disobey the new chief he had chosen 
to rule over them. It was therefore under the most auspicious 



Government of the Tribe. 3 5 

circumstances that Colonel Thomas became chief of the Eastern 
Band of the Cherokees. He had been with them long enough • 
to know their character. He made himself absolute in every- 
thing, and required the strictest obedience. He kept constantly 
in their minds the injunction of Younaguska, and warned them 
at every critical juncture of the danger of incurring the dis- 
pleasure of the spirit of their old chief. Councils were held 
according to the ancient usages of the tribe, but they did little 
more than confirm the transactions of the chief. 

Colonel Thomas, as provided by the treaty of 1835, used the 
funds of the Indians in the purchase of homes. He provided 
for their education and encouraged religious exercises among 
them. When the war broke out he led four companies into the 
Confederate army. They showed capacity for discipline and 
were not wanting in courage ; but like a great many of these 
highlanders, they had no interest in the cause, and employed 
the first opportunity to # desert, some of them joining the Federal 
army. and many finding their mountain homes. During the 
war the tribe's internal affairs were in chaos, its councils were 
without a head, and its members lapsed into dissipation and lazi- 
ness. The ban of an adverse fatality seemed to rest over these 
unfortunate pilgrims on their way from barbarism to civilization. 

Their chief was stricken with nervous disease when his ser- 
vices were most needed, and years of confusion and imposition 
followed. There were rival pretenders to the chieftainship, who 
divided the band into factions and threatened at one time a con- 
test at arms. The animus of this whole affair was the avarice 
of several white adventurers who were seeking to control the 
business of the tribe in order to get into their own hands the 
claims due the Indians from the United States. Even under 
such circumstances these people demonstrated their capacity 
for self government. One of the contestants, whose English 
name was John Ross, was forced to abandon his pretensions, 



36 The Native Mountaineers. 

and Lloyd Welsh, his competitor, soon after died. A written 
constitution had in the meantime been adopted, which is 
still in force. Nimrod Jarrett Smith, an intelligent and edu- 
cated member of the tribe, was elected by popular vote to the 
chieftainship for the term of four years, and has since been 
re-elected. 

The Eastern Band of Cherokees have title in fee simple to 
50,000 acres of land on the Ocona Lufta and Soco creek, 
known as the Qualla boundary. A few small tracts belonging 
to individual Indians are included. Besides this boundary, there 
are belonging to the band and individuals 1,521 acres in 
detached tracts lying in the counties of Cherokee, Graham, 
Jackson, and Swain. According to the census of 1880, there 
were living in the Qualla reserve, 825 ; in Cherokee county, 83 ; 
in Graham county, 189, and in Macon county, 12, making a 
total of 1,109. This number is ten per cent, less than in 1870. 
The Graham county Indians live along the head branches of the 
Cheowah, those in Cherokee county on Valley river. 

The Indians have no towns, nor does their manner of life dif- 
fer in many particulars from that of the white people among 
whom they reside. A stranger, unless he sees the inmates, 
does not distinguish an Indian cabin from a white man's, nor, 
with few exceptions, an Indian's little cove farm from one of its 
class cultivated by a white man. 

The valley of Soco is the locality of densest Indian population. 
The fields, originally of average fertility, are worn out by bad 
farming. There is an abundance of fruit — apples, peaches and 
plums. The predominant crop is corn, which is reduced to 
meal by the simple little mills common to the mountain coun- 
try. Small herds of ponies are frequently seen by the wayside. 
These, and a few cattle, are the main sources of revenue upon 
which the people rely for what money they need. Taxes 
and expenses incident to their government, including schools 



The Chcrokees of the Present. 



37 



is the extent of cash demands made upon them. They manu- 
facture their own clothing. The primitive dress of the warriors 
and hunters consisted of deer skin leggins and moccasins, a 
highly colored shirt, and a kind of turban ornamented with 
feathers. The moccasins alone survive, the dress of an Indian 
in all other respects being like that of his white neighbor. 
The Cherokee women of the present generation are unattrac- 
tive. Some of the young children who attend school are clean 
and neat in person and dress, which is more than can be 
said of many of the mothers. The women are seldom seen 
upon the road without burdens, though the men rarely carry 
anything. The lower valley of the Soco is barren of scenic 
interest, yet these metamorphosed representatives of a primi- 
tive population cannot fail to occupy the attention of the tourist. 
You may be interested in some of the details of our trip from 
the mouth of the Ocona Lufta to Soco gap. ■ 

The loquacious innkeeper at 
Charleston started us off with a 
comfortable breakfast and the in- 
formation that the distance to 
Yellow Hill, the residence of Chief 
Smith and Cherokee seat of govern- 
ment, was about eleven miles, and 
from there to Waynesville, through 
Soco gap, was twenty-five. Two 
hours' ride through the sandy, but 
well cultivated valley of the Tucka- 
sege brought us to the Ocona 
Lufta. From this point the road 
follows the general course of the 
stream, but, avoiding its curves, 
is at places so far away that the 
roar of the rapids sounds like the a soco lass 




38 The Native Mountaineers. 

the distant approach of a storm. At places the road is almost 
crowded into the river by the stern approach of precipices, and 
then again they separate while crossing broad, green, undulat- 
ing bottoms. Overtaking an old squaw and a girl probably 
ten years old, we inquired the distance to Yellow Hill. The 
old woman shook her head and gave us an expressionless look, 
indicating that she did not understand. The girl in good 
English gave us intelligible directions. We learned subse- 
quently that nearly all the Cherokee children can speak and 
write English. Many of the old folks can understand our lan- 
guage, but will not admit it. I began asking some questions of 
a stoop-shouldered, heavy-set fellow about the country. He 
stood dumb, but when I told him I" wanted to buy a few 
peaches his eye brightened, and the words "How many?" 
were distinctly uttered. 

We arrived at Yellow Hill about n o'clock. Chief Smith 
resides in a comfortable house of four rooms, situated on top of 
an elevation in the midst of a plain of considerable extent. In 
an open yard near the house is a frame building used for a 
school-house, meeting-house, and council-house. We found 
Chief Smith in his residence, writing at a table covered with 
books, pamphlets, letters, and manuscripts. The room is 
neatly papered and comfortably furnished. The chief received 
us with cordiality. He was dressed in white starched shirt, 
with collar and cuffs, Prince Albert coat, well-fitting black pant- 
aloons, and calf-skin boots shining like ebony. He is more 
than six feet tall, straight as a plumb line, and rather slender. 
His features are rough and prominent. His forehead is full 
but not high, and his thick, black hair, combed to perfect 
smoothness, hung down behind large protruding ears, almost 
to the coat collar. He has a deep, full-toned voice, and ear- 
nest, impressive manner. His wife is a white woman, and his 
daughters, bright, intelligent girls, have been well-educated. 



Constitution of the Band. 39 

One of them was operating a sewing-machine, another writing 
for her father. - ■-,... 

Under the present constitution the chief's term of office is 
four years. His salary is $500 a year, and $4 a day additional 
when on business in Washington. No one but a Cherokee of 
more than 35 years of age is eligible to the chieftainship. 
There is an assistant chief who receives $250 yearly. He is one 
of the council, and in the absence of the chief performs his 
duties. There are in addition three executive advisers. The 
council consists of two delegates to every 100 persons. It is 
presided over by the chief, who has the veto power, but who is 
not at liberty to act in any matter of public policy without the 
authority of the council. Every male Indian over sixteen years 
old, and every white man who has an Indian wife, is allowed to 
vote. No one is eligible to office who has ever aided and abet- 
ted, or in any way joined the whites in defrauding the tribe ; 
neither can any one hold office who denies the being of a God, 
or of a future state of rewards and punishments. There is gen- 
eral satisfaction with the present government, and Mr. Smith 
declares there is entire loyalty in all the settlements. 

A public school is maintained, and even the old and middle- 
aged are better educated than the whites in many communities. 
The young are taught in both Cherokee and English. It is 
unfortunate that no public fund is provided for the advanced 
education of the more intelligent of them, that they might be- 
come teachers. Others should be placed in shops where they 
would become artisans. Finely engraved pipes, ornaments, and 
well made baskets show their capacity in this direction. Their 
industry at present is not commendable. 

The christianization of the Cherokees was begun in 1801, by 
Moravian missionaries. It was easy to adapt their old faith to 
the new creed, and many were converted. Other churches 
have since taken up the work, Baptists deserving the most 



40 The Native Mountaineers. 

credit, and next to them the Methodists. They are naturally 
devout, and most of them are in regular communion with 
the church, thereby imposing marriage laws and other social 
regulations. Christianity has strengthened and solemnized the 
marriage tie, which in the prouder but more barbarous condi- 
tion of the tribe was a very weak relation. Boys used to 
choose their wives at sixteen to eighteen years of age, live with 
them a few years and then abandon them and their families. It 
not unfrequently happened that after rioting with strange 
women for a period, they came back to their first choice, unless 
their places had been taken by others. Prostitution was com- 
mon, though considered the most disgraceful of crimes, and 
punished by shearing the head. This punishment has been dis- 
continued. Although there has been a healthy change in social 
morals there is room for improvement. 

Rigid seriousness is a marked element of Indian character, 
and is written in unmistakable lines upon their faces. The 
Cherokee language is not capable of expressing a witticism, and 
anything like a joke is foreign to their nature. They have a 
great many so-called dances, but none of them, like the dance 
of the negro, is the effervescence of irrepressible joy. The 
Indian dances as a preparation for some coming event ; he 
never celebrates. It seems to be a legacy of his heathen ideas 
of making sacrifice to the great spirit, apparently involving 
much painful labor. In the primitive days the whole tribe 
danced before making war, and the warriors danced before go- 
ing into battle. It is still their custom to go through these 
melancholy perambulations before every contest of strength, 
such as a game of ball or a wrestling match. The funeral 
dance and the wedding dance are performed with the same 
stern immobility of features. 

From Yellow Hill our party started to Oualla post-office, a 
collection of a half-dozen unattractive houses, inhabited by 



Trip Through Qualla. 41 

whites, but at one time the council house of the band. The 
Ocona Lufta crossed our path at the beginning. The purity of 
the stream seemed to forbid the intrusion of a dirty hoof, but 
there was no time to indulge sentiment. The ford is shallow, 
and angles down stream. My horse mistook a canoe landing, 
almost opposite, for his place of destination, his rider's attention 
being absorbed in the blocks of many colored granite and 
transparent crystals of quartz, which form the bottom pave- 
ment. Three-fourths way across, the water was smooth and 
touched the horse's neck. Another length, a plunge, and the 
horse was swimming ; still the lustrous bottom shone with un- 
diminished distinctness. 

On our way through Quallatown to Soco creek, we passed 
numerous wayfarers carrying corn, fruit, baskets, and babies. 
One woman had a bushel of corn tied in a sack around her 
waist, a basket of apples on her head, and a baby in her arms. 
A slouchy man was walking at her side empty-handed and scold- 
ing, probably because she was unable to carry him. Under a 
peach tree before a cabin stood a witch-like squaw and half a 
dozen unattractive children. "Is this the Soco road?" was 
asked. " Satula" issued from her grim old mouth, and her 
finger pointed at the peaches. 

"No, Soco; is this Soco?" nervously urged our companion, 
pointing up the stream. 

"Uh," she grunted out, and handed him one peach, from 
which we inferred that " soco " means "one." A white woman 
in the vicinity confirmed our guess, and told us that " satula " 
is equivalent to the phrase " do you want it ? " 

Pause, and look at an "Indian maiden" by the road side. 
We did. Who, that has read Longfellow, and Cooper, and 
Irving, could pass without looking ? She certainly could not 
have been the inspiration of Longfellow's Hiawatha. She 
stands, in my recollection, with fishing rod in hand — about five 



42 The Native Mountaineers. 

feet tall, and 140 pounds in weight. Black, coarse, knotted hair 
hangs down her back to the waist. Under her low forehead is a 
pair of large, black eyes, which, unfortunately, are devoid of ex- 
pression. Her cheek bones are wider than her forehead and 
almost touch the level of her eyes. A fiat nose, straight mouth, 
and small ears, complete the physiognomy which showed no 
sign of thinking. Her neck is short and thick, and her 
shoulders broader than her broad hips. Her waist is almost 
manly. A gown of homespun, patched and dirty, half conceals 
her knees. With a glance at a large, but clumsy, pair of ankles, 
and flat feet, we pass on out of the Indian settlement along 
the rapids of Soco. We had not been approached by a beggar, 
or asked to buy a penny worth of anything during the whole 
day. 

The scenery along the torrents of Soco creek, down the 
western slope of the Balsams, rivals in variety and picturesque 
effect that of any place in the Appalachians. There are no 
grand chasms, nor grand cascades. There is nothing, indeed, 
which calls for superlative adjectives, unless, possibly, we ex- 
cept the immensity of the trees, the unbroken carpeting of 
moss, and the perfect grace of tall ferns. There is, in the 
curves of the torrent, as it bounds over precipices and down 
rapids, compelling us to cross its noisy channel at least twenty 
times ; in the conformation of the glens through which we rode ; 
in the massiveness and towering height of the great chain, up 
whose side we were climbing ; in the white fragments of rock, 
which reflect the sun light from the stream's channel and the 
highway; in the rounded cliffs, so modest that they keep them- 
selves perpetually robed in a seamless vesture of moss ; in the 
ferns, the shrubs, the trees, in the absolute solitude and loneli- 
ness of the place,— there is something so complex in its effect 
upon the interested student of nature that he is unwearied by 
the two hours and a half required to make the ascent. 




MOUNT PISGAH. 
West Asheville in the Foreground. 



IN THE HAUNTS OF THE BLACK BEAR. 



The bear, with shaggy hide 
Red-stained from blood of slaughtered swine, at night 
Slain by him on the mountain's lower side, 

Roused by the breaking light, 

Comes growling to his lair. 
Distant, the baying of an eager pack, 
Like chiming bells, sweeps thro' the chilly air 

Above the scented track. 

■YJjF-HE black bear, native to North America, still exists in 
ij^s large numbers on the wildest ranges of the southern moun- 
tains. The work of extermination pursued by hunter and trap- 
per proceed more slowly against him than against his fellow 
inhabitant of the wilderness — the deer, in which every faint 
halloo of mountaineer, or distant bay of the hounds, strikes 
terror; and whose superior fleetness of limb only serves to 
carry him to the open river — his slaughter ground. 

Bruin's usual haunts are in those melancholy forests which 
hood the heads of the Black, Smoky, and Balsam ranges, and 
deck a few summits of the Blue Ridge, resorted to either from 
liking, or to avoid his enemies ; and it is only when pushed by 
hunger or when his tooth has become depraved by a bait of 
hog, taken during one of these starving periods, that he appears 
on the lower slopes or in the cultivated valleys. However, 

45 



46 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

there are some localities, much lower than those mantled by the 
fir forests, where the black bear still roams. In some sections 
of the lower French Broad he is occasionally seen. The region 
of the Great Hog-back, Whiteside, Satoola, and Short-off, 
afford some sport in this line for the hunter ; while among the 
Nantihalas frequent successful hunts are undertaken. 

For bear-driving in the Black mountains, the best place for a 
stranger who really wishes to kill a bear, and who feels himself 
equal to so arduous a tramp, is "Big Tom" Wilson's, on Cane 
river. To reach it, you take the stage from Asheville to Burns- 
ville, and then ride or walk from the village 1 5 miles to the 
home of the old hunter. He is familiar with every part of the 
mountains. He it was that discovered the body of Professor 
Mitchell. Another good starting point would be from some 
cabin on the Toe river side, reaching it by leaving the main 
traveled road at a point, shown you by the native, between 
Burnsville and Bakersville. A start might be made on the 
Swannanoa side ; but the guides close at the base of the moun- 
tains have become perverted by too much travel from abroad, 
and will show more anxiety about securing pay for their accom- 
modations and services than interest in driving up a bear. 
Judging, however, from the number of traps set in the latter 
locality, one would form the idea that bears pay frequent visits 
to the cornfields. 

For a drive in the Smoky mountains, read the sketch on deer 
hunting. The region of the Cataluche, 22 miles north of 
Waynesville, is an excellent place to visit. The log-cabin of 
Tyre McCall on the head-waters of the French Broad, and near 
Brevard, would afford fair headquarters for him who wished to 
rough it. Deer and bear roam on the Tennessee Bald within 
five miles of the cabin. Tyre is a horny-handed but hospitable 
host, and would hunt with you in earnest. 

In the Nantihalas, Alexander Mundy's is the point from 



In Camp. 47 

which to start on a bear hunt. Further into the wilderness, on 
the far boundary of Graham county,, rise the Santeelah and 
Tellico mountains. At Robbinsville information can be ob- 
tained regarding the best hunter with whom to remain for a 
week's sport. * 

With this slight introduction, the writer proposes to convey 
to the reader some idea of what bear hunting in the heart of 
the Alleghanies is like; what one must expect to encounter, 
and what sort of friends he is likely to make on such expedi- 
tions. Besides the usual equipments carried by every hunter, it 
would be well to take a rubber blanket and have the guide carry 
an ax. 

It was one night about the 1st of December that we were in 
camp ; eight of us, huddled together under a low bark roof, 
and within three frail sides of like material. Around the camp 
lay seventeen dogs. The ground beneath us was cold and bare, 
except for a thin layer of ferns lately bundled in by some of the 
party. Before the front of the shelter, lay a great fire of heavy 
logs, heaped close enough for a long-legged sleeper to stick his 
feet in, while his head rested on the bolster log. The hot 
flames, fanned by a strong wind, leaped high and struggled up 
into the darkness. On long sticks, several of the group were 
toasting chunks of fat pork; others were attending to black tin 
pails of water boiling for coffee, while the remaining few were 
eating lunches already prepared. The wood crackled, and occa- 
sionally the unseasoned chestnut timber snapped, sending out 
showers of sparks. Around and within the circle of firelight, 
stood the trees with stripped, gaunt limbs swaying in the wind. 
Above, clouds rolled darkly, concealing the face of the sky. 

The temporary camp of a party of mountaineers on the hunt 
for Bruin, as viewed by night, presents a scene of unique inter- 
est. It is a shelter only for the time being ; no one expects to 
return to it, for by the following night the hounds may be 20 



48 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

miles away, and the drivers and standers toasting bear steaks in 
their cabins, or encamping on some distant height preparatory 
to resuming on the morrow the chase of a bruin who had 
through one day eluded their pursuit. The mountain straggler 
often sees by the trail which he follows, the ashes and scattered 
black brands of an extinguished fire, and the poles and birch 
bark of an abandoned camp. At this view he imagines he has 
some idea of a hunter's camp; but it is like the conception of 
the taste of an oyster from a sight of the empty shell. 

Situated as above described, we were improving an opportu- 
nity afforded for devouring the whole oyster. Our encamp- 
ment was on Old Bald ; not the famous shaking mountain, but 
of the Balsams, eight miles south of Waynesville. A few days 
previous, a denizen of Caney Fork, while crossing the mountain 
by the new dug road, came face to face with a black bear, gray 
about the nose and ears, and of enormous size, as he said. Did 
you ever hear a tale where the bear was not of size too large to 
swallow? The denizen of the valley had no fire-arms with him, 
so both, equally frightened, stood staring at each other, until 
the denizen of the mountain shuffled into the beech woods. 
This report considerably interested the Richland settlers. They 
laid their plans for an early hunt, and had them prematurely 
hatched by information brought in by the highest log-chopper 
on the creek, that his yard had been entered the last past night 
by some "varmint," and a fine hundred-pound hog (otherwise 
known as a mountain shad) killed and eaten within the pig-pen. 
The log-chopper had followed the trail for some distance, but 
without avail. 

That same afternoon our party climbed the mountain by an 
old bridle-path,' arriving just before sunset at a place admirably 
suited for a camp. Two steep ridges, descending from the main 
mountain top, hold between them the channel of a sparkling 
brook. Its water is crystal in clearness and icy cold. The 



Stately Forests. 49 

wood, principally beech, is green with casings of moss, and the 
cold rocks in the brook's bed and on the slopes above it are 
covered with a like growth. Where the trail enters the water 
the ground is level on one bank, and here we decided to kindle 
our fire, and, as the air was quite chilly, bearing indications of 
a- storm, to erect a light shelter. 

Dry leaves and twigs make excellent tinder for a flint's spark 
to settle and blaze in, and enough seasoned logs, bark, and 
limbs always lie scattered through this forest to afford camp- 
fires. Our's was soon flaming. The loosened bark of a fallen 
beech furnished us the material for the roof and sides of a shel- 
ter, which we built up on four forked limbs driven into the 
ground and covered with long poles. It was secured against 
wind assaults by braces. 

Near where we encamped, and below on the Beech Flats, 
stand trees as stately and magnificent as any ever touched by 
woodman's ax. We noticed several cherries measuring four 
and a half feet through, and towering, straight as masts, 70 feet 
before shooting out a limb; poplars as erect and tall to their 
lower branches and of still greater diameter; chestnuts from 
15 to 33 feet in circumference, and thousands of sound, lofty 
linns, ashes, buckeyes, oaks, and sugar maples. A few hem- 
locks considerably exceed 100 feet in height. A tree called the 
wahoo, grows here as well as on many of the ranges. It bears 
a white lily-shaped flower in the summer. Numerous cucumber 
trees are scattered on the slopes. These with the beech, water 
birch, black birch or mountain mahogany, black gum, red 
maple, and hickory, form the* forests from the mountain bases 
to the line of the balsams. On the Beech Flats there is no 
underbrush, except where the rhododendron hedges the purling 
streams. In places the plain path, the stately trees, and the 
level or sloping ground, covered only with the mouldering 



5<3 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

leaves of autumn, form parks more magnificent than those kept 
in trim by other hands than nature's. 

The best hounds, known as the "leaders," were fastened to 
poles stuck in the ground at the corners of our lodge. This 
was done to prevent them starting off during the night on the 
trail of a wolf, raccoon, or wildcat, thereby exhausting them- 
selves for the contemplated bear hunt. The rest of the pack 
were either standing around, looking absently into the fire, or 
had already stretched themselves out in close proximity to it. 

"The way them curs crawl up to the blaze," said Wid Med- 
ford, "is a shore sign thet hits goin' ter be cold nuff ter snow 
afore mornin'." 

No one disputed his assertion, and so, relative to this subject, 
he spun a story of how one of his hounds, one night many years 
since, had crept so close to the camp fire that all of his hair on 
one side was burnt off, and Wid awoke to detect the peculiar 
scent and to feel the first flakes of a snow storm that fell three 
feet deep before daylight. As though this story needed some- 
thing to brace it up, Wid continued: "Whatever I talk of as 
facts, you kin count on as true as Scriptur. " 

Israel Medford, nicknamed Wid, the master-hunter of the 
Balsam range, is a singular character, and a good representative 
of an old class of mountaineers, who, reared in the wilderness, 
still spend most of their time in hunting and fishing. He pos- 
sesses a standard type of common sense; an abundance of 
native wit, unstrengthened by even the slightest " book-larnin';" 
is a close observer, a perfect mimic, and a shrewd judge of 
character. His reputation as a talker is wide-spread ; and, talk- 
ing to the point, he commands the closest attention. His con- 
versation abounds in similes ; and, drawn as they are from his 
own observation, they are always striking. He is now sixty- 
five years old, and has been all his life a resident of Haywood 
county. 



' 'A Master Bar-Fighter. " 51 

That night as he sat cross-legged close to the fire, turning in 
the flames a stick with a slice of fat pork on it, with his broad- 
brimmed hat thrown on the ground, fully exposing his thick, 
straight, gray locks, and clear, ruddy, hatchet-shaped face, bare 
but for a red mustache, lighted up with youthful animation, he 
kept shaking the index finger of his right hand, while in his 
talk he jumped from one subject to another with as much 
alacrity as his bow legs might carry him over the mountains. 

" What I don't know about these mountings," said he, direct- 
ing his keen blue eyes upon one member of the group, ' ' haint 
of enny profit to man or devil. Why, I've fit bars from the 
Dark Ridge kentry to the headwaters of the French Broad. 
I've brogued it through every briar patch an' laurel thicket, an' 
haint I bin with Guyot, Sandoz, Grand Pierre, and Clingman 
over every peak from hyar to the South Caroliny an' Georgy 
lines? Say?" 

"What do you mean by 'brogued it'?" was asked. 

" Crawled, thets what hit means ; just as you'd hev to do ef 
you perused every pint o' the mountings ; ef you went through 
Hell's Half Acre ; ef you slid down the Shinies, or clim the 
Chimbleys." 

"Hit's rough thai:," remarked a broad-shouldered, heavy - 
mustached young fellow, named Allen. 

"Rough?" resumed Wid, "wal, I reckon hit is." 

" But a man can git in rough places right on this slope, can't 
he?" some one inquired. 

"In course," remarked another hunter, "Wid, you cum 
powerful nigh peeterin' out nigh hyar, wunct, didn't you?" 

"Yes," said Wid, now devoting his attention partly to a 
boiling pot of coffee, "Thet day war a tough un. Hit war a 
hot summer day. We, — thet is, Bill Massey who's awmost 
blind now, Bill Allen who gin up huntin' long ye'rs ago, my 
brother El, me, an' sev'ral others, — we started a bar on the 



52 Jn the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

Jackson county line nigh Scotts creek in the mornin'. We driv 
till arter-noon, an' in the chase I got below hyar. I heered the 
dogs up on Ole Bald, an' abearin' down the ridge-top I was oil 
Powerful soon I seed the bar comin' on a dog- trot under the 
trees. He war a master brute ! " 

"How big, Wid?" 

"Four-hunderd an' fifty pound, net. Thinks me to myself, 
'Gun fust, knife next'; fer, you see, I war clean played out 
with the heat and long run, an' I war in favor o' bringin' the 
thing to a close ; so I brought my ole flint-lock to my shoul'er. 
This is the very gun I hed then," and he tapped the battered 
stock of a six-foot, black-barreled, flint-lock rifle. 

" I wouldn't hev your cap arrangements. This kind never 
misses fire ; an' rain never teches hit, fer this 'ere kiver, ter put 
over the pan, keeps hit as dry as a tarripin hull." 

" Go on with the story," exclaimed an interested auditor. 

"Jist tend ter brilin' your bacon, Jonas, an' let me travel ter 
suit my own legs. I fetched my gun to my shoul'er an' fired. 
The brute never stopped, but I knowed I'd hit him, for I hed 
a dead sight on his head ; an', like blockade whisky, a ball 
outer thet black bore alius goes to the spot. He's a thick- 
skulled varmint, I thought. I dropped my gun, an' pulled my 
knife. On he cum. He didn't pay no more tenshun to me 
then ef I'd bin a rock. I drew back a step, an' as he brashed 
by me, I bent over him, grabbin' the ha'r o' his neck with one 
hand, an' staubed him deep in the side with the knife in the 
other. Thet's all I knowed for hours.". 
"Did you faint? " some one asked. 

"Faint?" sneered Wid, sticking out his square chin and 
showing his teeth. " You ass! You don't reckon I faint, do 
you ? Women faint. I fell dead ! You see all the blood in 
me jumped over my heart into my head, an' ov course hit fin- 
ished me fer a time." 



An Uncomfortable Night. 53 

"A dead faint," was suggested. 

" I don't like thet word, stranger. But, the boys an' dogs 
cum on me a second arter. Bill Allen cut my veins an' in a 
short time I cum round, but I war sick fer a week." 

" How about the bear ? " 

" Hit lay dead by the branch below, staubed clean through 
the heart." 

Before the story ended, a noise like thunder came rolling to 
us through the forests. Owing to the strange time of the year 
for a thunder storm, we were slow in realizing that one was 
brooding, but repeated peals and long rumbling echoes, pre- 
ceded by vivid flashes of light in the northern sky, soon con- 
vinced us of this fact. The wind changed, grew stronger, and 
soughed dismally through the trees. Rain began pattering on 
the bark roof: it came in slight showers, ceasing with each gust 
and flaw, then descending in torrents. The fire grew fiercer 
under these attempts to smother it, and w'ith the shifting of the 
wind, much to our discomfiture, smoke and sparks were driven 
under the roof. Occasionally, a strong blast would make us 
draw up our feet as the flames, leveled to the ground, whirled 
in on us. 

The situation became unendurable, and in a lull of the storm 
we crawled out in the open air ; tore down our camp, and 
changed it around with its back wall towards the wind. This 
occupied but a few minutes, and we were soon ensconced again. 
It was a wretched night. We lay tight together, like spoons, 
the six middle men being well protected from cold, but not 
from leaks in the roof. The two end men fared less comfort- 
ably with one side exposed. No one slept unless it was the 
gray-headed Medford, hardened by 1001 nights of like expe- 
rience. The rain ceased before morning, but the tempera- 
ture was considerably below the freezing point, and icicles had 
formed on the end of the roof fartherest from the fire. All 



54 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

night we had shifted and changed our positions, and the gray- 
light of dawn found us in the ashes, seemingly close enough to 
the fire to blister our faces, suffering in martyr-like submission 
with smoke in our eyes and backs, cold. 

I never saw a man with a good appetite for breakfast after a 
night of wakefulness beside a camp fire. After a long tramp, 
you can eat the roughest food with relish, but there is nothing 
tempting about hot coffee without sugar and cream, dry corn- 
bread and fat meat, in the ashes, on a cold, raw morning before 
the stars have paled in the sky. However, on the unpleasant 
prospect of seven hours elapsing before another snack, on this 
occasion we did stuff down some solid food, and drank copiously 
of the coffee. 

At this time an artist, seated at some distance up the brook, 
would have seen a spectacle of striking interest for the subject 
of a painting. In the center of his canvas he would have placed 
a huge fire with blaze, ten feet high ; behind it, half hidden by 
smoke and flame, the outlines of a rude shelter*; around it, their 
rugged features brightly lighted up, a group of shivering 
mountaineers, some wrapped to their hat rims in blankets, 
others with closely buttoned coats, and all squatting on the 
ground or standing leaning on their rifles ; the dogs in all im- 
aginable postures, either crouched close to the fire, or, outside 
the human circle, struggling for the possession of a dry crust; 
the great, mossed trunks of trees springing from the ferny rocks 
and slopes on which moved fantastic shadows. He could have 
shown the stillness of the air by the straightness of the column 
of ascending smoke, and the winter chill by the gaunt branches 
encased in ice. But the sounds of camp life — striking charac- 
teristics of the scene — would have eluded him. No brush could 
have conveyed to the canvas the snarling of the dogs, the laugh 
of a strong-lunged hunter, or Wid's startling imitation of the 



-* 



Peaks and Pinnacles of Silver. $ 5 

hoot of the owl, awakening the echoes of the gorges and re- 
sponses from the night-bird just repairing to his roost. 

We ascended Old Bald by a trail termed the "winds." It 
was icy underfoot, and some of the party had severe falls before 
we issued, from the dwarf beeches, upon the bare backbone of 
the range. Although no breeze was stirring that morning on 
the north side of the mountain, a bitter, winter blast was sweep- 
ing the summit. It cut through our clothing like wizard, sharp- 
edged knives that left no traces except the tingling skin. This 
blast had chased off every cloud, leaving clear, indigo-blue 
depths for the sun, just lifting over Cold Spring mountain, to 
ride through. As we reached the bare, culminating point of 
the narrow ridge between Old Bald and Lone Balsam, the sun 
had cleared himself from the mountain tops ; and, red and round, 
doubly increased in size, he was shedding his splendor on a 
scene unsurpassed in beauty and wild sublimity. The night 
rain, turning to sleet on the summits of the mountains, had en- 
cased the black balsam forests, covering the Spruce Ridge and 
Great Divide, in armors of ice. They glistened like hills and 
pinnacles of silver in the sunlight. Below the edges of these 
iced forests, stood the deciduous trees of the mountains, brown 
and bare. No traces of the storm clung to them. The hem- 
locks along the head-prongs of the Richland were green and 
dark under the shadows of the steep declivities. No clouds 
were clinging to the streams through the valleys, and visible in 
all the glory of the frosty morn, lay the vale of the Richland, 
with its stream winding through it like an endless silver ribbon. 
The white houses of Waynesville were shining in the sunlight 
pouring through the gap towards the Pigeon. No smoke was 
circling above their roofs. The quiet of night apparently still 
pervaded the street. High, and far behind it, rose the mystic, 
purple heights of the Newfound. 

On the side towards the south the scene was different. 



56 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

Mountains are here rolled so closely together that the valleys 
between them are hidden from sight. There are no pleasant 
vales, dotted with clearings or animated by a single column of 
cabin smoke. No evergreens are to be seen beyond the slope 
of the Balsams. That December morning the vast ranges 
looked black and bare under the cutting wind, and far off, 30 
miles on a bee-line through space, rose Whiteside and its neigh- 
boring peaks, veritably white from snow mantling their sum- 
mits. 

Medford had been right in his prediction ; snow had fallen, 
but not in our immediate vicinity. Before noon, as we had 
good reasons to believe, the wintry character of the scene would 
be changed under the influence of the sun in an unclouded sky. 
As we descended into the low gap between Lone Balsam and 
the next pinnacle of the Balsams, Ickes, who had started in ad- 
vance, came out in sight, on the ridge top, at a point some dis- 
tance below us. Just at the moment he appeared, a turkey 
rose, like a buzzard, out of the winter grass near him, and was 
about to make good its flight for the iced forests beyond, when 
his gun came to his shoulder, a flash and a report succeeded, 
and the great bird whirled and fell straight downward into the 
firs. The mountaineers yelled with delight. Shot-guns being 
little used in this section, shooting on the wing is an almost un- 
heard of art. Not one of those bear hunters had ever seen a 
shot of like nature, and the unostentatious young sportsman 
was raised to a high notch in their estimation. When we 
reached him, he had already descended into the grove and re- 
turned with his game. It was somewhat bruised, and feathers 
considerably ruffled from falling through tree-tops upon a rocky 
ground. 

A mountain turkey is no small game. This one was a mag- 
nificent specimen ; a royal turkey-gobbler, that by stretching his 
brilliant neck would have stood four feet high. Stripped of his 



Amid the Firs. 57 

green and blue bronzed plumage, and prepared for the oven, 
he weighed 24 pounds. In the neighborhood of Waynes- 
ville I have bought the same birds about Christmas time for 
50 cents a piece, and the hunter, who, with heavy rifle, had 
ranged the cold mountain top before day-break,, and then 
brought his game eight miles down the winding trail, felt satis- 
fied with this sum (all he had asked) as compensation for his 
labor and skill as a sportsman. Perhaps he weighed the fun of 
killing the bird on his side of the scales. 

We now reached the edge of the great forests of the balsam 
firs, — forests which mantle nearly every peak above 6,000 feet 
in altitude in North Carolina. The balsam is one of the most 
beautiful of evergreens. When transplanted, as it is occasion- 
ally, to the valleys of this region, it forms an ornamental tree 
of marked appearance, with its dark green, almost black, foliage, 
its straight, tapering trunk and symmetrical body. In the rich 
dark soil in some of the lofty mountain gaps it attains to a 
height of 150 feet, and in certain localities growing so thickly 
together as to render it almost impossible for the hunters to fol- 
low the bear through its forests. It is of two sorts, differing in 
many particulars, and termed the black and white or male and 
female balsams. Every grove is composed of both black and 
white balsams, and no single tree is widely separated from its 
opposite sex. The black balsam has a rougher bark, more 
ragged limbs, and darker foliage than the white. The latter is 
more ornamental, with its straight-shooting branches and 
smooth trunk; it bears blisters containing an aromatic resinous 
substance of peculiar medicinal properties. A high price is 
paid for this balsam of firs, but it seems that the price is not in 
proportion to the amount of time and labor necessary to be ex- 
pended in puncturing the blisters for their contents, for very 
little of it is procured by the mountaineers. It covers every 
high pinnacle of the Balsam mountains. On some slopes, 



58 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

however, extending only a few hundred yards down from the 
top before blending, and disappearing into the deciduous forests; 
but on other slopes, like those descending to the west prongs of 
the Pigeon, it reaches downward for miles from the summit of 
the mountains, forming the wildest of wooded landscapes. 

Although the observer, from the outer edge of this sombre 
wood-line, fails to see any foliage but that of the balsam, when 
he enters the shadows he discovers a number of trees a'nd 
shrubs, peculiar to the firs I forests of the extreme mountain 
heights. Of the trees indigenous to the valleys, the wild 
cherry and hawthorn appear to be the only species growing 
here. The most ornamental of the trees of the firs forests is the 
Peruvian, with its smooth, slender trunk, and great branches of 
brilliant red berries, which appear in the early fall and hang 
until the severest frosts. Its bark and berries taste like the 
kernel of a peach-pit, and are frequently mixed by the moun- 
taineers in their whisky, as a bitters having the flavor of peach 
brandy. Here also spring the service tree, with its red, eatable 
berry, ripe in August ; the balsam haw, with its pleasant tasting 
black fruit ; the Shawnee haw ; the Peru tree ; the small Indian 
arrow wood; and thick in some of the most darkly shaded 
localities, hedges of the balsam whortle-berry, a peculiar species 
of that bush, bearing in October a jet black berry, juicy and 
palatable, but lacking the sweetness of the common whortle- 
berry, which is also found on heights above 6,000 feet in alti- 
tude. 

Scattered near these hedges, are great thickets of blackberry 
bushes. It is a fortunate thing for the hunters obliged to break 
through them (sometimes for hundreds of yards), that they are 
singularly free from briers. While the berries are ripe in July 
in the valleys, these are green, and it is not until September 
and October that they become mature. The bears grow fat 
in such gardens. Peruvian berries are a great delicacy for 



Wid on Natural History. 59 

them. That day, on the Spruce Ridge, Wid Medford called 
my attention to a small tree of this kind, no more than four 
inches through at the base, with branches broken on its top 
about 15 feet from the ground. Deep scratches of an ani- 
mal's claws were visible in the bark. It had been climbed by 
a bear a month since ; and a good-sized bear at that, judging 
from the distance he had reached from where his claws had left 
their imprint to the highest broken branch. The wonder was 
how so heavy an animal had climbed a tree so slender. 

In this connection, I had with the old hunter an interesting 
talk containing considerable information concerning the habits 
of the black bear. Whatever Wid Medford says on natural 
history can be accepted as truth gained by him through long 
years of experience, close observation, retained by a good 
memory, and imparted, as such matters would be, without any 
incentive for exaggeration. His quaint vernacular being the 
most fitting medium for the conveyance of the sense of his 
remarks, it is not necessary to clothe it in the king's English. 

"Wid," I asked, " do bears sleep all winter?" 

" Thet calls fer more o' an answer than a shake or nod o' the 
head. Bears go inter winter quarters 'tween Christmas an' 
New Ye'r. The ole he bats fast his eyes an' never shuffles out 
till about the fust o' May. The bearing she has cubs in Feb'ry, 
an' then she comes out fer water an' goes back till April fust, 
when she mosies out fer good." 

" What are their winter quarters ?" 

"Caves, holler trees, or bray-sheaps cut by them and piled 
high 'ginst a log. When they git it high nuff, they dig a 
tunnel from the furder side o' the log, an' then crawl through 
an' under the brashe. " 

" Do they quarter together ?" 

"No, sar'ee ; every one alone. " 

" What is their condition when they come out ?" 



60 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

" Fat as seals." 

" That would be the best time to kill them, wouldn't it ?" 

" Yes, but you'd hev to be quick about it." 

" Why ?" 

" In jist a few days they grow ez lean ez a two-acre farm- 
yer's hoss, arter corn hez been a dollar an' a half a bushel fer 
three month, an' roughness can't be got fer love or money. 
Jist figger to yerself the weight of an animal under sich sarcum- 
stances. The fust thing they eat is grasses, weeds, an' green 
stuff fer a physic, an' hit has a powerful effec' on runnin' 'em 
down to skin an' bone. They're mighty tender-footed tho' 
when the daylight fust hits 'em sq'ar in the eyes, an' hit don't 
take long fer the dogs ter git 'em ter stan' an' fight." 

" How are their hides in April and May?" 

"Fine ; the ha'r is thick, long, an' black; but they soon be- 
gin ter shed, an' hit's not till cold weather agin thet they make 
fit skins fer tannin'." 

"What do they sell at?" 

"Three dollars is a fa'r price fer a prime hide." 

It is a fact worth mentioning, that these same hides are sold 
at $10, and even as high as $15 in the cities. 

"Now," I inquired with considerable interest, "will a black 
bear attack a man ?" 

" Hit 'pends on sarcumstances. He wouldn't tech the illest 
human, 'les he war cornered an' hed to fight his way out, or 
he war wounded, or hit war an ole she with cubs. In sich 
cases, look out, I say ! I memorize one time thet I war in a 
tight box. • Hit war down on Pigeon, whar the laurel is too 
thick fer a covey o' patridges ter riz from. Thar war one 
straight trail an' I war in it. My gun war empty. I heered 
the dogs a-comin' an' knowed without axin' thet the bar war 
afore 'em. I never hed no objections ter meetin 3 a varmint in 
a squar, stan'-up fight, — his nails agin my knife, ye know; so 



In Close Quarters. 61 

without wunct thinkin' on gittin' outer the way, I retched fer 
my sticker. The tarnal thing war gone, an' thar war me with- 
out a weepin' big enuffto skin a boomer. I run along lookin' 
at the laurel on both sides, but thar warn't a place in it fer a 
■ man ter git even one leg in. Ticklish? You're sound thar! 
I. didn't know what the devil ter do, an' I got all in a sweat, an' 
drawin' nigher, nigher, up the windin' trail I heerd the varmint 
comin'. Wal, I drappedon my elbows an' knees squaracross the 
narrer path, so narrer thet I hed ter hump myself Up. I kinder 
squinted out one side, to see the percession, ye know. Hit 
cum : a big monster brute, with a loose tongue hangin' out, an' 
* red eyes. He war trottin like a stage-hoss. He never stopped, 
even to sniff me, but puttin' his paws on my 'back, as tho' I war 
a log, he jist leaped over me an' war out o' sight in a jerk. 
The dogs war clus on his heels, a snappin' away, an' every one 
o' 'em jumped over me as kerless -like as him, an' raced along 
without ever stoppin' ter lick ther master's han'." 

"Do you like hunting?" I asked, as he finished. 

" Good law!" 

That was his sole answer, but with the astounded look on his 
face, it expressed everything. 

"Wid, your life has been one long, rough experience. If 
you had it to live over again, knowing as much as you do now, 
how would you live ?" 

As though the question was one he had thought over again 
and again, without hesitating a moment, he laid his hand on 
my shoulder and said : 

" I'd git me a neat woman, an' go to the wildest kentry in 
creation, an' hunt from the day I was big nuff to tote a rifle- 
gun, ontil ole age an' roomaticks fastened on me." 

Just after shooting the wild turkey we prepared to separate. 
The hounds were all leashed with ropes and fresh bark straps. 
Four of the hunters held them in check. This was done to 



62 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

prevenj, them starting on the track of a wild cat or wolf. The 
Judyculla drive was the first one to be undertaken. It is a 
wild, tumbled forest of balsams, matted laurels and briers, on 
the south slope of the Spruce Ridge. When a bear is started 
in the valleys, or on the slopes above it, he always climbs the 
mountain, crossing through one of its lowest gaps, and then 
plunges down the rugged heights into the wilderness lying on 
the opposite side. 

The stands for the Judyculla drive are on the backbone 
between the Spruce Ridge and the Great Divide. Through 
some one of them Bruin always passes on his way to the waters 
of Richland creek. The drivers with fourteen dogs now de-* 
scended the ridge, and four of us, designated as standers, with 
three dogs, entered the forest of balsams. The three dogs 
were to be held in check by one of the standers, and only to be 
loosened to take up the fresh trail when Bruin should cross, as 
he might, through one of the mountain gaps. At fifteen steps 
one seems to be in the heart of the woods. The light, so 
strongly shed on the open meadows beyond the outskirts, is 
lost ; the thickly set trees intercept it and one's sight from 
detecting that an open expanse lies so near. 

The transition from the broad daylight of the meadows to 
the darkness of the fir forests is not always as sudden. The 
approach from the Cold Spring mountain side is entirely differ- 
ent. For the first few square rods the trees — straight, beauti- 
ful evergreens — are set widely apart. A green, closely-cut 
sward, soft for the foot, covers the rounded mountain side. 
The few rocks lying here are so green and thick-grown with 
moss and lichens that they appear like artificial mounds. Over 
all broods a slumberous silence, unbroken but for the march of 
the forces of the storm, the tinkling bells of lost cattle, the 
voice of an occasional hunter, the singing of the mountain 
boomer, or the howl of wolves. It seems like a vast cemetery. 



The Path of a Hurricane. 6$ 

Although in December, a luxuriant greenness mantled every- 
thing, except where beds of ferns had found root and then faded 
with the approach of autumn, or the yellow leaves of the few 
scattered hard wood trees lay under foot. The rich, black soil was 
well grown with that species of grass that dies during the sum- 
mer and springs up heavy and green in the fall. Mosses, with 
stems and leaves like diminutive ferns, covered every ledge of 
rock and crag, and formed for the trail a carpet soft and springy. 
This trail is as crooked as a rail fence, and as hard to follow as 
it would be to follow closely the convolutions of a rail fence, 
where every corner had been used as a receptacle for gathered 
rocks, and left for nature to plant with the hazel and blackberry. 
It was hard enough to crawl up and down the moss-mantled 
rocks and cliffs, and over or under an occasional giant balsam 
that, yellow with age, had fallen from its own feebleness ; but, 
along the narrow ■ backbone approaching the Great Divide, a 
recent hurricane had spread such devastation in its path as to 
render walking many times more difficult. 

For two miles, along this sharp ridge, nearly every other tree 
had been whirled by the storm from its footing. They not 
only covered the path with their trunks bristling with straight 
branches; but, instead of being cut off short, the wind had torn 
them up by the roots, lifting thereby all the soil from the black- 
rocks, and leaving great holas for us to descend into, cross and 
then ascend. It was a continual crawl and climb for this dis- 
tance. 

There were only three stands, and Wid and I, with the three 
dogs, occupied one of these. It was a rather low dip in the 
ridge. We seated ourselves on a pile of rocks, upholstered 
with mosses, making an easy and luxurious couch. A gentle 
hollow sloped down toward where lay the tangles of the Judy- 
culla drive. A dense, black forest surrounded us. Where the 
hollow reached the center line of the ridge it sunk down on the 



64 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

other side rather abruptly toward the Richland. This was the 
wildest front of the mountain. At one point near the stand an 
observer can look down into what is called the Gulfs. The 
name is appropriate. It is an abyss as black as night. Its 
depth is fully 2,000, possibly 2,500 feet. No stream can be 
seen. It is one great, impenetrable wilderness. 

The bear-hunters are the only men familiar with these head- 
waters of the Richland. At the foot of the steep, funereal wall 
lies one spot known as Hell's Half-acre. Did you ever notice, 
in places along the bank of a wide woodland river, after a spring 
flood, the great piles of huge drift-logs, sometimes covering an 
entire field, and heaped as high as a house? Hell's Half-acre 
is like one of these fields. It is wind and time, however, which 
bring the trees, loosened from their hold on the dizzy heights 
and craggy slopes, thundering down into this pit. 

The " Chimbleys and Shinies," as called by the mountaineers, 
form another feature of the region of the Gulfs. The former 
are walls of rock, either bare or overgrown with wild vines and 
ivy. They take their name from their resemblance to chimneys 
as the fogs curl up their faces and away from their tops. The 
Shinies are sloping ledges of rock, bare like the Chimneys, or 
covered with great thick plats of shrubs, like the poisonous 
hemlock, the rhododendron, and kalmia. Water usually trick- 
les over their faces. In winter it freezes, making surfaces that, 
seen from a distance, dazzle the eye. 

The trees began to drip as we sat there, and the air grew 
warm. With this warmth a little life was awakened in the sober 
and melancholy forest. A few snow-birds twittered in the bal- 
sams ; the malicious blue-jay screamed overhead, and robins, 
now and then, flew through the open space. The most curious 
noise of these forests is that of the boomer, a small red squir- 
rel, native to the Alleghanies. He haunts the hemlock-spruce, 
and the firs, and unlike the gray squirrel, the presence of man 



The Opening Chorus. 65 

seems to make him all the more noisy. Perched, at what he 
evidently deems a safe distance, amid the lugubrious evergreen 
foliage of stately balsams, he sings away like the shuttle of a 
sewing-machine. The unfamiliar traveler would insist that it 
was a bird thus rendering vocal the forest. 

Wid had been silent for several minutes. Suddenly he laid 
his hand softly on my knee, and without saying a word pointed 
to the dogs. They lay at our feet, with ropes round their necks 
held by the old hunter. Three noses were slightly elevated in 
the air, and the folds of six long ears turned back. A moment 
they were this way, then, as a slight breeze came to us from the 
south, they jumped to their feet, as though electrified, and 
began whining. 

"Thar's suthin' in the wind," whispered Wid. " I reckon 
hits the music o' the pack. Sh, ! Listen!" 

A minute passed, in which Wid kicked the dogs a dozen 
times to quiet them, and then we heard a faint bell-like tinkle. 
The likening of the baying of a pack of hounds to the tinkling of 
bells is as true in fact as it is beautiful in simile. There is every 
intonation of bells of all descriptions, changing with distance and 
location. It was a mellow, golden chiming at the beginning; 
then it grew stronger, stronger, until it swung through the air 
like the deep resonant tones of church bells. Did you ever 
hear it sweeping up a mountain side? It would light with 
animation the eyes of a man who had never pulled a trigger; 
but how about the hunter who hears it? He feels all the 
inspiration of the music, but mingled with it are thoughts of a 
practical nature, and a sportsman's kindling ardor to see the 
"varmint" that rings the bells. 

It steadily grew" louder, coming with every echo right up the 
wooded slope. 

"They're on the trail now, shore," remarked Wid," an hit-'ll 
keep the bar hoppin' ter climb this 'ere mounting without 



66 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

whoppin' some o' 'em off. I reckon I'd better unlimber my 
gun." 

Suiting the action to the word, the old hunter laid his flint- 
lock rifle across his knees, and with deliberation fixed the prim- 
ing anew in the pan. As he did so, he kept talking; "Hark 
sharp, an' you kin hear my slut's voice like a cow-bell. She's 
the hound fer ye tho'. Her legs are short, her tail stubby an' 
her hide yaller, but thar's no pearter hound in the kentry." 

' ' Are they likely to wind and overtake the bear coming up 
the mountain?" I asked. 

' ' Yes, sar ; a dog travels the faster comin' up hill, but when 
wunst the varmint turns ter go down hill, the pack mought ez 
well try ter ketch a locomotion an' keers. I've heered tell thet 
them things go sixty mile an hour. Wal, a bar is trumps goin' 
down hill. They don't stop fer nuthin'. They go down prici- 
pises head-fust, rollin' an' jumpin'. Now a dog hez to pick his 
way in sich places." 

We waited ; the baying was bearing towards the east below 
us. Then it seemed ascending. An expression of astonish- 
ment spread over Wid's face. "Hits cur'ous! " he exclaimed. 

"What?" 

"Why them dogs is racin' like deer. Thet proves thet the 
bar is fur ahead, an' they're close to the top o' the ridge at Eli's 
stan'. The bar must hev crossed thar. But Good Jim! why 
aint he shot? Come, lets git out o' this." 

The three dogs tugged on ahead of us. We traveled through 
a windfall for a quarter of a mile, and then came into the stand 
to find it vacant, and the hounds baying on the slopes, towards 
the Richland. They had crossed the gap, hounds and hunters, 
too ; for a moment after we heard the musical notes from a 
horn wound by some one in the lower wilderness. It was 
wound to tell the standers to pass around the heights to the 
lofty gaps between the Richland and the waters of the Pigeon. 



An Ebon Moiintairt. 6j 

As was afterwards related, the bear had passed through Eli's 
stand, but Eli was not there on account of his mistaking and 
occupying for a drive-way a gully that ended in a precipice on 
either side of the ridge. He, with the other stander, soon 
joined us and we pushed along the trail, towards the summit of 
the Great Divide. 

This mountain stands 6,425 feet above the sea, and is the 
loftiest of the Balsams. Among the Cherokees it is known as 
Younaguska, named in honor of an illustrious chief. Except 
when the king of winter, puffing his hollow cheeks, wraps the 
sharp summits in the pure white mantle of the snow, or locks 
them in frosted armor, the Great Divide with its black, unbroken 
forests of fir, ever rises an ebon mountain. Its fronts are 
gashed, on the east, south and north sides, by the headwaters 
of the Pigeon, Caney Fork and Richland. For the reason of 
the two last-mentioned streams springing here, the mountain is 
termed by some geographers the Caney Fork or the Richland 
Balsam mountain. 

Three distinct spurs of mountains, forming portions of the 
great Balsam chain, lead away from it as from a hub. One, 
trending in a due west course, splits into various connected but 
distinct ranges ; and, after leaping a low gap, culminates in a lofty 
cluster of balsam-crowned peaks, known as the Junaluska or 
Plott group, seven of which are over 6,000 feet in altitude. 
The spur towards the north terminates in Lickstone and its foot- 
hills; while the one bearing east, a long, massive black wall, 
holding six pinnacles in altitude above 6,000 feet, breaks into 
ranges terminating in the Cold mountain, Pisgah, and far to the 
south, the Great Hogback. 

From this description the reader may have some conception, 
however faint, of the majesty of the Balsam range, the longest 
of the transverse chains between the Blue Ridge and the 
Smokies, and forming with its high valleys, numerous mountains 



68 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

and those lofty summits of the Great Smoky chain towards 
which it trends, the culminating region of the Alleghanies. 

On the south brow of the Great Divide, only a few feet lower 
than the extreme summit, lies an open square expanse of about 
20 acres embosomed in the black balsams. It has every fea- 
ture peculiar to a clearing left for nature to train into its primi- 
tive wildness, but in all its abandonment the balsams have 
singularly failed to encroach upon it ; and, as though restrained 
by sacred lines which they dare not pass, stand dense and som- 
bre around its margin. Its gentle slope is covered thick with 
whortleberry bushes, in this instance, contrary to the nature of 
that shrub, springing from a rich, black soil. Only one small 
clump of trees, near the upper edge, mars the level surface of 
the shrubs. It is called the Judyculla old field, and the tradi- 
tion held by the Indians is that it is one of the footprints of 
Satan, as he stepped, during a pre-historic walk, from mountain 
to mountain. 

We were informed by mountaineers that flint arrow heads 
and broken pieces of pottery have been found in this old field, 
showing almost conclusively that some of the Cherokees them- 
selves, or the nation that built the many mounds, laid the 
buried stone walls and worked the ancient mica mines, occu- 
pied it as an abiding place for years. 

There are other bare spots on these mountains known as 
scalds, and like this old field, situated in the heart of fir forests. 
They are grown with matted ivy, poisonous hemlock and briers, 
but traces of the fire, that at recent date swept them of their 
timber, are to be seen. In a few years the wilderness will have 
reclaimed them; but the Judyculla old field will remain, as now, 
a mysterious vistage, which the mutilations of time cannot 
efface. 

Through a dark aisle, leading from the summit of the Great 
Divide, we descended to the Brier Patch gap ; and here one of 



Calling in the Drivers. 69 

our number was stationed, while the rest of us toiled up a 
nameless black spur, crossed it and dropped slowly down to 
Grassy gap. It was past noon, and while we listened to the 
low baying of the hounds in the depths, we munched at a snack 
of corn bread and boiled corned beef. In the meantime, Wid 
was examining the trail from one slope to the other. He would 
peer closely into every clump of briers, pulling them apart with 
his hands, and bend so low over the grasses along the path, that 
the black strip in his light colored trousers, hidden by his 
brown coat tails when he walked erect, would be exposed to 
view. 

At length he paused and called us to him. The branch of a 
whortleberry bush, to which he pointed, was freshly broken off, 
and in the black soft soil, close to the trail, was the visible im- 
print of a bears' paw. Bruin evidently had a long start on the 
pack, and having climbed up from the gulf, had passed through 
Grassy gap, and descended to the Pigeon. We now all fired 
our guns in order to bring the hunters and hounds as soon 
as possible to us. 

It was 4 o'clock, and the shadows were growing bluer, when 
up through the laurel tangles, out from under the service-trees, 
hawthornes, and balsams, came the pack, — one dog after 
another, the first five or six, in quick succession, and the others 
straggling after. Wid seemed to deliberate a moment about 
stopping them or not ; but, as they raced by, he cut the thongs 
of the three dogs which we had kept all day, remarking: "Let 
'em rip. Hits too late fer us to foller, tho'. We'll hev ter lay 
by at the Double spring till mornin'. I'd kep' 'em in check, 
too, but hit may snow to-night and thet wud spile the scent an' 
hide the track. They'll cum up with 'im by dark, an' then 
badger 'im till daylight an' we'uns git thar. " 

"Won't they leave the trail at dark?" was asked. 

"Never! Why, I've knowed my ole hounds ter stick to hit 



70 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

fer three days without nary bite o' meat, 'cept what they peeled, 
now an' then, from the varmint's flanks." 

All the hunters soon came straggling in ; and as a soft, but 
cold evening breeze fanned the mountain glorified with the light 
of fading day, and the vales of the Pigeon grew blue-black un- 
der the heavy shadows of the Balsam range, we filed into the 
cove where bubbles the Double spring, and made preparations 
for supper and shelter similar to the previous night. 

As it grew darker the breeze entirely died away, leaving that 
dead, awful hush that oftentimes precedes a heavy snow storm. 
The branches of the mountain mahogany hung motionless over 
the camp. Around, the stripped limbs of ancient beeches, and 
the white, dead branches of blasted hemlocks, unswayed and 
noiseless, caught the bright light of the fire. The mournful 
howl of the wolves from points beyond intervening dismal de- 
files, now and then came through the impenetrable darkness to 
our ears. 

Snow began steadily falling, — that soft, flaky sort of snow, 
which seems to descend without a struggle, continues for 
hours, and then without warning suddenly ceases. All night it 
fell, sifting through our ill-constructed shelter, burying us in its 
white folds and extinguishing the fire. Notwithstanding the 
presence of this unwelcome visitant, we slept soundly. Sleep 
generally finds an easy conquest over healthy bodies, fatigued 
with a late past night of wakefulness, and an all day's travel 
through rugged mountains. 

I awoke to find my legs asleep from the weight of a fellow- 
sleeper's legs crossed over them. As I sat up, leaning my 
elbows on the bodies of two mountaineers packed tight against 
me, I saw the old hunter, on his hands and knees in the snow, 
bending over a bed of coals surrounded by snow- covered fire- 
logs. Some live coals, awakened by the hunter's breath, were 
glowing strong enough for me to thus descry his dark form, and 



A Sunrise Prospect. 71 

the clear features and puffed cheeks of his face. He had a 
struggle before the flames sprung up and began drying the wet 
timbers. It was still dark around us, but a pale, rosy light was 
beginning to suffuse the sky, from which the storm-clouds had 
been driven. 

While part of the company prepared breakfast, the rest of us 
picked our way through the shoe-mouth-deep snow to the sum- 
mit of Cold Spring mountain. It was the prospect of a sunrise 
on mountains of snow that called us forth. The sky was 
radiant with light when we reached the desired point ; but the 
sun was still hidden behind the symmetrical summit of Cold 
mountain, the terminal peak of the snowy and shadowed range 
looming across the dark, narrow valley of the upper Pigeon. 
Light was pouring, through an eastern gap, upon the wide vale 
of the river far to the north. In its bottom lay a silver fog. 
Snow-mantled mountains embosomed it. It resembled the 
interior of a great porcelain bowl, with a rim of gold appearing 
round it as day-light grew stronger. Fifty miles away, with 
front translucent and steel-blue, stood the. Black mountains. 
Apparently no snow had fallen on them. Their elevated, 
rambling crest, like the edge of a broken-toothed, cross-cut saw, 
was visible. 

After breakfast we started on the backbone of the Balsam 
range for the Rich mountain, distant about eight miles. It 
was a picturesque body of men, that in single file waded in the 
snow under the burdened balsams, and crawled over the white- 
topped logs. The head youth from Caney Fork had his hat 
pulled down so far over his ears, to protect them from the cold, 
that half of his head, flaunting yellow locks, was exposed above 
the tattered felt, and only the lower portion of his pale, weak 
face appeared below the rim. His blue, homespun coat hardly 
reached the top of his pantaloons ; and his great, horny hands, 
and arms half way to the elbows protruded from torn sleeves. 



72 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

There was no necessity for him to roll up his pantaloons ; for so 
short were they that his stork-like legs were not covered by 
fifteen inches from the heels. Next behind him came Wid, with 
his face as red as ever, and his long hair the color of the snow. 
Then followed Allen, a thick-set, sturdy youth from the Rich- 
land. He gloried in his health and vigor, and to show it, wore 
nothing over his back but a thin muslin shirt. He whistled as 
he walked, and laughed and halloed till the forests responded, 
whenever a balsam branch dislodged its snow upon his head and 
shoulders. Noah Harrison, another valley farmer, who likes 
hunting better than farming, came next. He was a matter-of- 
fact fellow, and showed his disrelish to the snow by picking, with 
his keen eyes, his steps in the foot-prints of those ahead. Jonas 
Medford, a stout, mustached son of the old hunter, followed 
behind the three young fellows who wore store clothes and car- 
ried breech-loading shot-guns, instead of the rifles borne by the 
natives. 

When half-way round the ridge, we caught faint echoes from 
the hounds below.' The sound was as stirring in tone as the 
reveille of the camp. A minute after, our party was broken 
into sections, every one being left to pick his way as best he 
could to the scene of the fight between the dogs and bear. 
Naturally, the three young fellows in store clothes stayed together. 
A balsam slope is the roughest ever trodden by the foot of man. 
The rhododendrons and kalmias are perfect net-works. In them a 
man is in as much danger of becoming irrecoverably entangled 
unto death as a fly in a spider's web ; but, in the excitement 
caused by that faint chiming of the hounds, no one seemed to 
think of the danger of being lost in the labyrinths. 

Luckily, before we three had proceeded ioo yards down a 
steep declivity, we struck the channel of a tiny brook. Hedges 
of rhododendron grow rankly along it, on both sides, and almost 
meet over the clear, rushing water. It would be impossible for 



Face to Face with Biiiin. 73 

a man to penetrate these hedges for any great distance, unless 
time was of no object whatever. The path of the torrent 
affords the path for the hunter. We had on rubber boots, and 
so waded in. following it down a devious course. It was an 
arduous walk. At times slippery rocks sent us floundering ; 
boulders intercepted us, and the surface of deep pools rose 
higher than our boot-tops. For two miles we pushed on, our 
ardor being kept aflame by the increasing noise of the pack, and 
a few minutes later, we reached the scene of the struggle. 

The fight between two dogs on a village street affords great 
interest to the mixed crowd that gathers around it ; cocks 
pitted against each other collect the rabble, and the bull fight 
of Spain furnishes a national amusement ; but of all fights that 
between a pack of ravenous dogs and a frenzied bear is the 
most exciting. But few persons are ever accorded a sight of 
this nature. It can never be forgotten by them. This is what 
we saw on issuing from the laurel : A white wintry expanse, 
free from undergrowth, on which the trees were set a little fur- 
ther apart than usual ; back of us the stream ; while across the 
open expanse, at the distance of twenty yards, a leaning cliff 
with the wild vines on its front sprinkled with snow, and its 
top hidden from view by the giant hemlocks before it. Close at 
the base of one of these hemlocks, reared on his haunches, sat 
a shaggy black bear. He was licking his chops ; and, holding 
his fore paws up in approved pugilistic style, was coolly eyeing 
ten hounds, which, forming a semi-circle, distant about ten feet 
before him, were baying and barking with uplifted heads and 
savage teeth exposed. One poor hound, with skull cracked by 
Bruin's paw, lay within the circle. At the foot of a hemlock 
near us sat two bleeding curs, and one with a broken leg began 
dragging himself toward us. 

By exposing ourselves we lost our chances for a shot; for, as 
soon as we came in view, the hounds, encouraged by the sight 



74 In the Haunts of the Black Bear. 

of men, sprang at their antagonist with redoubled fury and 
increased yelping. It would have been impossible for us to 




THE FINAL STRUGGLE. 



have made a shot with our shotguns without having killed or 
disabled several of the hounds ; so with triggers cocked we 



The Death Shot. 75 

• 
bided our time and with interest watched the combat. Judging 
by his methods of defense, Bruin was an adept in that line. 
He had had time for experience, for he was a great, shaggy fel- 
low with gray tufts of hair on his head. He showed his teeth 
and growled as the dogs kept jumping at him. A twelve hour 
fight, in which several of the pack had been rendered incapable 
of attack, had given caution to the remainder, and they were 
extremely wary about taking their nips at him. 

During the melee that for the next minute ensued, one savage 
hound was caught in the clutches of the bear and hugged and 
bitten to death ; while, taking advantage of the momentary 
exposure of his sides, the others of the pack fell upon old Bruin 
until he was completely hidden under the struggling mass. He 
had just shaken them off again and recovered his balance, when 
a rifle shot sounded, and a puff of white smoke arose from under 
a spruce at the edge of the laurel thicket. The noise of the 
fight had prevented us hearing the approach of Wid, the old 
hunter. I looked from him at the group. Bruin had fallen 
forward on his face. Every dog was on his body, now writh- 
ing in its death throes. 

"Too bad ye didn't git a chance to kiver him," said the old 
man, "but hit would n't done to kill the dogs no way." 

If I had had any idea of the game being thus easily taken 
from me, I would have availed myself of the minute before 
Wid's appearance by killing the bear, and several dogs with him 
if necessary to that end. My companions were of the same mind. 
One by one the hunters straggled in. The anirrfal was skinned 
where he lay ; and then, packed with hide, meat, blankets and 
our guns, we descended the middle prong of the Pigeon to the 
road through the picturesque valley. 

It was fortunate for us that the bear stopped to rest on the 
middle prong. Had he continued on a sharp trot he would 
have escaped us ; for, when closely hounded, Bruin travels 



j6 In the Haunts of the Black Bcai\ 

directly toward Sam's Knob, a peak lying between the Rich 
and Cold mountains. It is the most inaccessible mountain 
of the range, and few persons have ever scaled its summit. 
The wildest woods and laurel, interlocked with thorns and briers, 
spring from its precipitous sides r while the voices of cascades 
and cataracts arise from its shadowy ravines. It is the safe 
retreat of Bruin. But what cannot be accomplished on this 
mountain by rifle and hound is attempted by traps. The true 
hunter is not prone to pursuing any other than open warfare 
against the black bear. While the sale of their hides and meat 
nets him a respectable sum each year, his chief incentive for 
slaying them is his passionate love for the chase. 

Two kinds of traps are used. The common steel trap is 
familiar to nearly every one. Its great springs seem strong 
enough to splinter a man's leg. They are carefully set on bear 
trails in the densest labyrinths, and covered with leaves and 
grasses to conceal them from the luckless "varmint" that walks 
that way. No bait is required. On some of the peaks there 
is far more danger to be apprehended by the mountain strag- 
gler from these steel traps than from rattlesnakes. One must 
be careful how he ventures into close paths through the lofty 
mountain thickets. However, the neighboring mountaineers 
are aware where these traps are set. 

The wooden trap is used in some localities. It consists of a 
wide half log, about twelve feet in length, with level face up. 
With this log for a bottom, a long box is formed by using for 
the sides two "similar half logs, fastened with flat sides facing 
each other along the edges of the bottom log. Into one end 
of this box is pinned a heavy timber inclined at an angle over 
the bed of the box, and supported by sticks constructed like a 
figure four, baited with bread and honey, or meat. Rocks are 
fastened to its elevated end to increase its weight. The bear, 
attracted by the sweet smell of the honey, ventures in, pulls 



The "Windiri Up" 77 

the figure four to pieces, and is crushed down by the fallen 
cover. If not killed he is effectually pinned until the merciless 
trapper unintentionally shows some mercy by ending his 
struggles. 

As the white-haired Wid said : ' ' Traps is good fer 'em ez 
hunts rabbits, an' rabbit huntin' is good fer boys ; but fer me 
gim me my ole flint-lock shootin'-iron, an' let a keen pack o' 
lean hounds be hoppin' on ahead ; an' of all sports, the master 
sport is follerin' their music over the mountings, an' windin' up, 
with bullet or sticker, a varminous ole bar! " 



THE VALLEY OF THE NOON-DAY SUN. 



It is one of those numerous chef-d 'aeuvre of creation which God has scattered over the 
earth, but which He conceals so frequently on the summit of naked rocks, in the depth 
of inaccessible rapines, on the unapproachable shores of the ocean, like jewels which He 
unveils rarely, and that only to simple beings, to children, to shepherds, or fishermen, or 
the devout worshippers of nature. — Lamartine. 

fN Macon county, North Carolina, is a section of country so 
seldom visited by strangers, that few persons living beyond 
its limits are aware of its existence, except as they find it 
located on the map. In pomp of forest, purity of water, beauty 
of s.ky, wildness of mountains, combining in a wonderful 
wealth of sublime scenery, the valley of the Nantihala river is 
not surpassed by any region of the Alleghanies. While a 
great portion of Macon and of other counties have had atten- 
tion occasionally called to them by magazine articles, and by a 
few novels with plots laid in the familiar picturesque sections, 
the Nantihala and the mountains mirrored on its surface, have 
to this day remained an unrolled scroll. This is not strange, 
from the fact of the wild and rugged nature of the mountains, 
its few inhabitants, its remoteness from railroads, and the rough- 
ness of the highways and trails by which it is traversed. Even 

79 



80 The Valley of the Noon- Day Sun. 

the ambitious tourist who enters Western North Carolina with 
the purpose of seeing all the points of picturesque interest, 
finds his summer vacation at a close before he has completed a 
tour of those scenic sections lying within a radius of fifty miles 
from Asheville. 

The musical name of Nantihala, as applied to the river, is 
a slight change from the Cherokee pronunciation of it — Nante- 
yaleh. Judging from the fact of different interpreters giving 
different meanings for the name, its signification is involved. in 
obscurity. By some it is said to mean Noon-day Sun, from the 
fact of the mountains hugging it so closely that the sunlight 
strikes it only during the middle of the day. The other mean- 
in? is Maiden's Bosom. 

The river is wholly in Macon county. Rising near the Geor- 
gia boundary, amid the wilds of the Standing Indian and 
Chunky Gal mountains — peaks of its bordering eastern and west- 
ern ranges — it flows in a northerly and then north-easterly direc- 
tion, and after a swift course of fifty miles, empties its waters 
into the Little Tennessee. The ragged, straggling range, slop- 
ing abruptly up from its eastern bank, takes the name of the 
river. This range breaks from the Blue Ridge, in Georgia, and 
trends north, with the Little Tennessee receiving its waters on 
one side, and the Nantihala, those on the other. The Valley 
River mountains, forming the Macon county western boundary, 
run parallel with the Nantihala range. It is in the narrow 
cradle between these two chains that the river is forever rocked: 

Through most of the distance from its sources to where it 
crosses the State road, the river flows at the feet of piny crags, 
under vast forests, and down apparently inaccessible slopes. Its 
upper waters teem with trout, and its lower, with the gamiest 
fish of the pure streams of level lands. The red deer brouses 
along its banks, and amid the laurel and brier thickets which 
shade its fountain-heads, the black bear challenges the pursuit 



Sweet Woodland Scenes. 81 

of hounds and hunters. Near the State road are gems of wood- 
land scenery, where all the natural character of the stream — its 
wildness — is absent ; and under the soft sunlight and cool 
shadows of quiet woods, beside a swift, noiseless stretch of 
water, on which every leaf of the red-maple and birch is mir- 
rored, and along which the gnarled roots of the whitened syca- 
more offer inviting seats, the stroller is vividly reminded of 
some lowland river, familiar, perhaps, to his boyhood. At 
these places, the basin is just such a one as you would like to 
plung headlong into. The grass is green and lush along the 
banks, and the interlacing hedges, and brilliant vines drooping 
from the over-arching trees, would render concealment perfect. 
If you are not afraid of ice-cold water, a swim here would be 
most enjoyable, but even at noon in July or August, the tem- 
perature of the stream is near the freezing point. 

From the leaning beech, one can look down into the trout's 
glassy pool, and see him lying motionless in the depths, or 
catch a glimpse of his dark shape as he shoots over the waving 
ferny-mossed rocks, and disappears under the cover of the 
bank. The king-fisher is not an unfamiliar object. His sharp 
scream as he flies low over the waters will attract the attention 
of the observer. Ungainly herons may be startled from their 
dreaming along the stream ; and flocks of plover, seemingly 
out of their latitude, at times go wheeling and whistling high 
above the woods. 

Monday's has a place on the map. Why? It is a cheerful, 
home-like country tavern. Extensive cleared lands stretch 
back to the green forest lines. A board fence fronts the neatly- 
kept lawn, on whose elevated center rises a two-story weather- 
beaten frame house. The steep, mossy roof is guarded at either 
end by a grim, stone chimney. Large windows look out upon 
a crooked road, and a long porch with trellised railing is just 
the place to tip back in a hard-bottomed chair, elevate your 



82 



The Valley of the Noon-Day Sun. 



feet, and enjoy a quiet evening smoke. The river is out of sight 
below the hill, but at times the music of its rapids can be 
distinctly heard. The ranges of the Nantihala and Valley 
River rise on either side the valley. The only wagon-ways to 
this point are across these ranges, from Franklin on the east 
and Murphy on the west. 

Franklin, the county seat of Macon, is situated in the heart 
of one of the most fertile sections of the mountains — the valley 
of the Little Tennessee. Its site is on a great hill on the west 
bank of the river. As the traveler, approaching from the east, 
winds through the lands lying along the banks of the slow-flow- 
ing stream, he will be attracted by the broad, level farms, and, 
if in summer or early fall, by the wealth of the harvest. One 
of the most charming views of the village and the magnificent 
valley is on the road coming from Highlands. You will halt 
your horse. Let it be on a summer evening, just as the 

igj|j jl| shadows have crept across the 
landscape. The green and yel- 
low fields will lie in the fore- 
ground pervaded with a drea- 
my quiet. Below, you see the 
covered bridge, and the red 
road, at first hidden behind the 
corn, at some distance beyond, 
climbing the hill and disap- 
pearing amid dwellings, build- 
ings, and churches whose spires 
rise above the cluster. Far in 
the background looms the dark, 
bulky form of the Warrior 
Bald, of the Nantihalas, and 
further to the south, the long, 
the warrior bald. l eV el-topped continuation of 




The Village of Franklin. 83 

the range. If old Sol is far down, the 1 bright green glow that 
marks the last moment of the day will crown the summit of 
his sentinel peak. A moment later the stars are seen, and as 
you ride on and ascend the hill, the faint mists of the river will 
be visible, gathering as if to veil the scene. 

You are on the village streets. A few shop lights gleam 
across the way, but there is no bustle before any of them, and 
you will imagine that the villagers, careful of their health, re- 
tire at sundown. Some of them certainly do, but it is no 
unusual thing to hear laughter on the hotel porch even as late' 
as midnight, and no deaths or arrests chronicled the next morn- 
ing. The hotel keeper, Cunningham, is a queer character. 
He is a good-natured landlord, an excellent story-teller, and 
a shrewd horse trader. The first two accomplishments are 
appreciated by travelers. The curiosity about the hotel porch 
is the chairs. They are too high for a short man to get into 
without climbing, and so large that he will feel lost in them. 
At sight of these great chairs ranged about the hotel door, 
the traveler will imagine that he has dropped into a colony of 
giants. 

Franklin is a growing town. This is due to the fact of its 
being in the center of a farming and mining country. It is a 
market for grain, and in past years for the mica taken from sev- 
eral paying mines in the vicinity. It is 71 miles distant in a 
southwest course from Asheville, and about 30 miles from 
Clayton, the seat of Rabun county, Georgia. A fine brick 
court-house has lately been built in the village center. 

From Franklin the State road toward the Nantihalas leads 
across hills and through valleys to the Savannah, whose mean- 
derings it follows under heavy foliaged forests. The road from 
the eastern base of this range across the summit to the oppo- 
site base, winds through a lonely wilderness. It is the grand- 
est highway of the mountains. At the commencement of the 



84 The Valley of the Noon-Day Sun. 

ascent stands a primitive* toll-gate, one of the many obnoxious 
guardians to state roads. A quarter will be demanded before 
passage is permitted. The house of the toll-gate keeper is on 
one side. There is moss on its roof and green vines on its 
front. The skeleton of a venerable saw-mill, whose straight, 
perpendicular saw is allowed to rust through a great part of 
the time, stands on the opposite side below a beaver-like dam. 
The sound of crashing waters continually breaks the silence 
of the great woods. 

The distance over the mountain is 12 miles, and but one 
house, a log cabin, empty and forlorn, almost hidden in a dark 
cove, is to be seen. The woods are as dense as those of the 
lowlands, and so well trimmed by nature, so fresh and green 
are they, so invigorating the air that circles through them, that 
one, if he ever felt like retiring to some vast wilderness, might 
well wish his lodge to be located here. All the mountains of 
the Nantihala range are exceedingly steep. To ascend this 
one, the road winds back and forth in zigzag trails, so that in 
reaching one point near the summit, you can clearly see three 
parallel roads below you. The view from the top of the pass 
is one never to be forgotten. Higher spurs of the Nantihalas 
shoot up in rugged magnificence across the gorge that falls 
away from the brow of the peak on which the highway winds. 
In spite of the rocky and perpendicular character of the slopes 
of these neighboring peaks, black wild forests cover them from 
bases to summits. Dazzling white spots on the front of the 
nearest mountain show where some enterprising miner had 
worked for mica. In one direction there is a valley view. It 
is toward the east. Its great depth renders one dizzy at 
the prospect. White specks on yellow clearings in the green 
basin mark the few farm houses. A streak of silver winds 
through it, vanishing before the eye strikes the bases of the 
Cowee mountains, which wall the background. 



Picturesque Solitudes. 85 

All along the lofty pass, the road is crossed by little spark- 
ling streams pouring over the mossed rocks, under the birches 
and pines. By one of these roadside rivulets is an enchanting 
spot for a noonday lunch. 

" Here twilight is and coolness: here is moss, 
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade. 
Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest ! and if thy heart 
Be innocent, here, too, shalt thou refresh 
Thy spirit, listening to some gentle sound, 
Or passing gale, or hum of murmuring bees!" 

The western slope is less precipitous than the eastern, 
and after a descent through an unbroken forest, the traveler 
arrives at Monday's. The most direct course to Charlestown, 
Swain county, is down the river; but for the next ten or 
twelve miles the mountains so crowd the stream that no road is 
laid. A bridle-path winds through the forbidding fastnesses, 
occasionally in sight of the stream. From Brier Town, a scat- 
tered settlement, the falls o£ the river can be reached by a walk 
of four miles. These falls, on account of their inaccessibility, 
are seldom visited, except by the cattle herder and hunter. 
They pour over the lip of a ragged cliff in a wild gorge, hid- 
den by lofty and precipitous mountains. 

The State road crosses the river on a bridge just below the 
fork of the road to Hayesville, the county seat of Clay. A mill 
and several houses are clustered near the bridge ; but a moment 
after passing them you ascend the Valley River mountains. It 
is a well graded road, through chestnut and oak woods, for five 
miles to the lowest dip in the mountains. There is no view to 
be had, except of one wild valley that presents no striking fea- 
tures, but in the utter loneliness brooding over it. Down the 
slope you go through one of the densest and most luxuriant 
forests of the mountain region. It is a tremendous labyrinth 
of monarch hemlocks and balsams, so heavily burdened with 



86 The Valley of the Noon- Day Sun. 

foliage that their greenness approaches blackness, and renders 
the air so cold that the traveler riding through them, even in 
the middle of the morning, shivers in his saddle. The laurel 
grows to twice its customary height, affording safe coverts for 
the bear and wolf. The ground is black. A stream flows 
along by and in the road, the only noisy occupant of the soli- 
tude visible and audible at all times. 

Wild scenes appear as the base of the mountain is neared. 
As you advance under the shadows, around the foot of a steep 
ridge, bounded by a stream making mad music over the boul- 
ders, suddenly before you will tower a vine-mantled wall with 
top ragged with pines, cleaving the blue sky. Then, after lin- 
gering along the foot of this wall, as though loath to leave the 
cool greenness of its mossed rocks and woods, the road issues 
into a small circle of cleared land, where the ranges, drawing 
apart for a short distance, have allowed man to secure a foot- 
hold. In most of these confined dells it is, however, a feeble 
foothold ; due, principally, to the ^indolence of the occupant. 
These homes are pictures of desolation ; — a miserable log cabin 
with outside chimney crumbled to one-half its original height, 
and the end of the house blackened and charred from the flames 
and smoke poured upward along it ; the roof heaped with 
stones to keep it in place ; the door off its wooden hinges ; the 
barn an unroofed ruin, and the clearing cultivated to the extent 
of one small patch of weed-strangled corn. The family who 
live in such a place will be alive, however, and outside as you 
go by. The man on the bench before the door will shout 
"howdy," and continue smoking his pipe with as much com- 
placency as if he had a hundred acres of golden wheat within 
his sight, a well filled granery, and cows weighing 1,200 instead 
of 500 pounds. From four to ten children, all about the same 
size, clustered along the fence, will excite wonder as to how 
they have lived so long. 



The Prince of Sluggards. 87 

Lazy men can be found in all countries ; but no lazier speci- 
men of humanity ever lived than one existing at present near 
the Tuckasege in Jackson county. We heard of him one night 
at a dilapidated farm-house of an ex-sheriff of that county. It 
can better be told in the exact words of the conversation 
through which we learned of the specimen's existence ; but, in 
order for you to fully appreciate it, it will be necessary to give 
an idea of the appearance of the house and its surroundings. 
The farm of level land was first owned by an enterprising 
farmer. The house, a large, log one, was built by him 40 years 
ago. It now consists of a main building of two stories, with a 
wing in the rear. It first struck us that the house had never 
been completed ; for on riding toward it we found ourselves 
under a long roof extending from the main building. The loft 
and roof overhead were intact, and were supported by posts at the 
two corners out from the house. It was apparently a wing that 
had never been sided or floored. 

After supper as we sat by the moonlight-flooded window, on 
inquiring of our host why the large wing had never been 
finished, he answered : 

"Finished? Why, it war finished, but when the old man 
died, his son and heir, one of the no-countist fellows what ever 
lived, moved in. Wal, ye see them woods, yander?" 

"Yes." 

" Not more 'en fifty yard away." 

"Just about that." 

" Wal, do you know thet thet man war too cussed lazy to go 
to them woods for fire wood, and so tore down thet wing, piece 
by piece, flooring, sidings, window sashes, doors — everything 
but the loft and roof, and he'd a took them ef he hadn't been 
too lazy to climb up stairs." 

" Wonder he didn't take the whole house." 

"I*pect he would ef I hadn't bought him out when I did. 



88 The Valley of the Noon- Day Sun. 

Why, man ! this whole farm-yard was an apple orchard then. 
How many trees do you see now ? " 

"Three." 

"That's all. Chopped down, every damned one of 'em, for 
the fire-place. Lazy, why, dog my skin ! — " 

' ' Where is he now ? " 

"He lives in a poor chunk of a cabin over in them woods, 
close enough now to fire-wood, shore." 

Down further on the Valley river the landscape grows more 
open, and the rugged mountains become softened down to un- 
dulating hills, drawn far back from the stream, and leaving be- 
tween them wide vales, rich in soil, generous in crops, and in 
places over three miles in width. This is in Cherokee, the extreme 
southwest county of North Carolina. Murphy, the county-seat, 
is a small, weather-worn village, located in nearly the center of 
the county. The Western North Carolina Railroad, as pro- 
jected, will, on its way to Ducktown, soon intersect it. 

Just before reaching Valley river, the traveler will notice a 
large, white house, situated in a fine orchard. Mrs. Walker's 
is known through the western counties as a place of excellent 
accommodation. At this point, the road to the lower valley of 
the Nantihala, turns abruptly to the right. It is a rough way 
through an uninviting country, thinly inhabited, poor in farm- 
ing lands, and devoid of scenery. After miles of weary travel, 
the road disappears from the sunlight into a deep ravine. A 
stream disputes passage with the swampy road, which is fairly 
built upon the springy roots of the rhododendrons. It seems 
to be the bottom of some deep-sunk basin, which at one time 
was the center of a lake, whose waters, finding a way out, left 
a rich deposit for a luxuriant forest to spring from. The trunks 
of the trees are covered with yellowish-green moss. Matted 
walls of living and dead rhododendrons and kalmias line the way. 
Your horse will stumble wearily along, especially if it is soon 



A Swiss Landscape. 89 

after a rain ; and if a buggy is behind him, it will take a good 
reinsman to keep it from upsetting in the axle-deep ruts, over 
low stumps and half- rotten logs. Keep up your spirits, and 
think little of the convenience of the place for the accomplish- 
ment of a dark deed. Soon it comes to an end, and a firmer, 
though rough, road leads into an open forest, and gradually de- 
scends a narrow valley between prodigiously high mountains. 

The passage of Red Marble gap is now made, and the valley 
of the Nantihala again entered twelve miles below where the 
State road crosses at Monday's. The first view of it will cause 
you to rise in your stirrups. It is a narrow valley, with one 
farm-house lying in the foreground. Around it rise massive 
mountain walls, perfectly perpendicular, veiled with woods, and 
in height fully 2,000 feet. Directly before you is a parting of 
the tremendous ranges, and through this steep-sided gap, purple 
lines of mountains, rising one behind another, bar the vision. 
The picture of these far-away ranges, in the subdued coloring of 
distance, is of inspiring grandeur. The river is unseen at this 
point ; but, if the Cheowah Mountain road is ascended, its white 
line of waters" will be visible, as it issues from the wild gorge at 
the head of the valley; and, bickering along between wood- 
fringed banks, by the farm-house, under and out from under the 
birches, at length disappears in the wilderness leading toward 
the great gap. 

Widow Nelson lives in the only visible farm-house, — a low, 
ill-constructed, frame dwelling with a log cabin in the rear, and 
small barn near by. It is a hospitable shelter or dinner-place 
for the traveler. On the widow's porch is always seated a fat 
old man named Reggies. He is short in stature, has red, puffed, 
smooth-shaven cheeks, and appears like "a jolly old soul." 
You will hear his sonorous voice, if you draw rein at the fence 
to make inquiries concerning distances ; for he is an animated, 
universal guide-post, and answers in a set manner all questions. 



go The Valley of the Noon-Day Sim. 

So few settlers live along the Nantihala that the strongest 
friendship binds them together; and every one considers all the 
people surrounding him, within a radius of ten miles, his neigh- 
bors. The social ties between the young folks are kept warm 
principally by the old-fashioned "hoe-downs." During a 
week's stay in the valley, we improved an opportunity to attend 
one of these dances. Satisfactory arrangements being made, 
one evening before dark we started with Owenby, a guide. A 
branch road led to our destination, — a path, that, though a faint 
cattle trail in the beginning, had grown, after being traveled over 
by the mountaineers' oxen and their summer sleds, into a road. 
As is usually the case, it followed up an impetuous little torrent. 
At a small, log cabin, where we stopped after proceeding a mile 
on one journey, we were joined by a party of twenty young 
men and women ; and with this body we began the ascent to 
Sallow's, where the dance was to be held. Still enough twilight 
remained for us to find our way without difficulty. All walked 
with the exception of three men, who, each with his respective 
young lady seated behind him, rode mules, and led the way. 
After a steady climb for several miles we halted before the dim 
outlines of another little cabin. The mounted ones dismounted 
and fastened their steeds. 

" I reckon we'll surprise 'em, fer it 'pears they've all gone to 
roost," remarked Owenby, as we silently stepped over the 
leveled bars of the fence into the potato patch bordering the 
road. Not a streak of light shone through a crack of the cabin, 
not a sound came from the interior. One of our party pushed 
the puncheon door, which easily swung open with a creak of 
wooden hinges. 

"Come to life in hyar ! Up an' out! Hi, yi, Dan and 
Molly ! " he yelled, while following his lead we all crowded 
into the single room. The fire had smouldered until only a 



At the ll Hoe-Down." 91 

few coals remained, and those were insufficient to throw any- 
light on the scene. 

"Good Lord! what does this mean?" growled, from a dark 
corner, some one who was evidently proprietor of the premises. 

" Hit means we're hyar for a dance, ole man ; so crawl out," 
laughingly returned our self-constituted spokesman. 

"Well, I reckon we're in fer it," continued the disturbed, as 
we heard a bed creak, and bare feet strike the floor. ' ' Pitch 
some pine knots on the fire, and face hit an' the wall while 
wife an' me gits our duds on." 

A few seconds after, the host and hostess were ready to 
receive company, and a blazing pine fire illuminated a room 20 
x 25 feet in dimensions. The beds were one side and the frowsy 
heads of eight children stuck with wondering faces out from the 
torn covers. Two tables and a few chairs were on the middle 
floor, and numerous garments, and -household articles hung on 
the walls. The light from the great, gaping fire-place, in one 
end of the room, showed the party off to advantage. The girls 
were attired in their best garments ; some of light yellow, 
though blue dresses preponderated. The characters of most 
interest to all present were two good-natured-looking young 
men dressed in "biled" shirts, green neckties, "store- 
boughten " coats, and homespun pantaloons. With self-import- 
ant airs they accepted and immediately covered two chairs 
before the blazing hearth. One of the twain had a home-made 
banjo on his knee ; the other, a violin. The necessary scraping 
and twanging to get the instruments in tune took place ; and 
then the older musician announced that the ball was open. 

"Trot out yer gals," said he ; "There must n't be enny 
hangin' back while these 'ere cat-gut strings last. Git up an' 
shine ! " 

After some hesitation four couples stepped into the center of 
the floor, forming two sets. Each one separated from and 



92 The Valley of the Noon-Day Sun. 

stood facing his partner. Then the music struck up, and such 
music ! The tune was one of the liveliest jigs imaginable, and 
the musicians sang as they played. The dancers courtesied and 
then began a singular dance. There was no calling off; it was 
simply a jig on the part of each performer. The girls danced 
with arms akimbo, reeling sideways one way, and then side- 
ways the other. Their partners, with slouched hats still on 
their heads, hair swinging loosely, every muscle in motion and 
all in time with the music, careered around in like manner. 
The rest of the party stood silent and interested looking on ; 
and on the whole scene blazed the pine knots. 

At intervals, parties of two, three, or more, of the men 
slipped out of the door, then in a few minutes returned, 
apparently refreshed by a draught of the night air, or something 
else. After the finish of one of the dances, in which we stran- 
gers engaged, a fierce-mustached mountaineer tapped me on the 
shoulder, whispering as he did so : " Come outside a minnit." 

I hesitated for a moment, hardly knowing whether I would 
better follow or not ; then I stepped after him. As the light 
shone through the open door, I saw that three men were outside 
with him. The door shut behind me. It was intensely dark, 
every star was blotted out, and a damp, chilly wind was sweeping 
down the mountain. We walked a few steps from the house. 

" What do you want ? ". I asked in an apprehensive tone. 

No one spoke. I attempted to repeat the question, but be- 
fore I could do so, the man who had invited me out, said: " We 
don't know your principles, but we seed you 'aint got the big- 
head, an' like yer way o' joinin' in. We want to do the fair 
thing, an' no offence meant, we hope, whichever way you de- 
cide. Won't you take a drink?" 

I had feared some harm was intended, possibly for dancing 
with the girl of one of the fellows. I felt relieved. In the 



By the Light of Pine Torches. 93 

darkness I felt a small jug placed in my hands, and heard the 
corn-cob stopper being drawn from it. 

For several hours longer the dancing kept up, and so did the 
outside drinking, the motions of the drinkers growing wilder as 
they joined in on the floor. It was two o'clock when the musi- 
cians' powers failed them. Preparations were made for de- 
parture. 

" Hits blacker outside 'en the muzzle o' my old flintrlock," 
remarked Sallow, as he opened the creaking door ; " I reckon 
ye'd best light some pine knots ter see yer way down the 
mounting." 

Each man selected a knot from a pile near the fire-place; 
lighted it, and with flaming torch filed out into the night. 
The mules were mounted, each animal carrying double, as 
spoken of above ; and then into the dark, still forest we went. 
The scene was striking. Those in front were close in one body, 
the torches, wiLh black smoke curling upwards, being held high 
in air, rendering the carriers visible, and lighting up the woods 
with a strange glare. The lights wavered and danced in circles, 
as if those who held them were unsteady on their feet. Now 
and then, one of the boisterous mountaineers would fire off his 
pistol, giving rise to shrill screams from the fair sex, loud laughs 
from their partners, and causing the mules to jump in a manner 
terrifying to their riders. However, no accidents occurred, and 
journeying on, we soon reached our temporary quarters, well 
satisfied with the night's experience. 

On this occasion the hilarity of a number of the party proved 
damaging to them. Some one gave in evidence of their carry- 
ing concealed weapons ; and, soon after, several arrests were 
made and convictions followed. The law against carrying con- 
cealed weapons is stringently enforced in the mountain section 
of the State, and with good results. 

Shooting matches are frequent, in the valley of the western 



94 The Valley of the Noon-Day Sun. 

section. The prize is generally a beef. The time is in Octo- 
ber, when the cattle, in sleek condition, are driven down from 
the mountain summits. Notice of the proposed match is com- 
municated to the settlers ; and, on the stated day, the adepts in 
the use of shooting-irons, assemble, with their cap and flint- 
lock rifles, at the place of contest. The gray-haired, rheumatic, 
old settler, with bear scratches, will be there. His eyes are 
as sharp as ever, and the younger men, who have never shot at 
anything larger than a wild-cat or turkey, must draw fine beads 
if they excel him. Every beef makes five prizes. The hind 
quarters form two ; the fore quarters the next two ; and the 
hide and tallow the last choice. Sometimes there is a sixth 
prize, consisting of the privilege of cutting out the lead shot by 
the contestants into the tree forming the back-ground for the 
target. The value of a beef is divided into shilling shares, 
which are sold to purchasers and then shot off. The best shots 
take first choice, and so on. Three judges preside. 

It is an interesting sight to watch the proceedings of a shoot- 
ing-match. If it is to be in the afternoon, the long open space 
beside the creek, and within the circle of chestnut trees, where 
the shooting is to be done, is empty; but, just as the shadow of 
the sun is shortest, they begin to assemble. Some of them 
come on foot ; others in wagons, or, as is most generally the 
case, on horseback galloping along through the woods. The 
long-haired denizen of the hidden mountain cove drops in, with 
his dog at his heels. The young blacksmith, in his sooty shirt- 
sleeves, walks over from his way-side forge. The urchins who, 
with their fish-rods, haunt the banks of the brook, are gathered 
in as great force as their "daddies " and elder brothers. 

A unique character, who frequently mingles with the crowd, 
is the " nat'ral-born hoss-swopper. " He has a keen eye to see 
at a glance the defects and perfections of horse or mule .(in his 
own opinion), and always carries the air of a man who feels a 



Striking a Bargain. 95 

sort of superiority over his fellow men. At a prancing gait, he 
rides the result of his last sharp bargain, into the- group, and 
keeps his saddle, with the neck of his horse well arched, by 
means of the curb-bit, until another mountaineer, with like 
trading propensities, strides up to him, and claps his hand on 
the horse's mane, exclaiming : 

"What spavined critter ye got a-straddle ov to-day, Bill?" 

"He aint got nary blemish on 'im, you old cross-eyed sin- 
ner! " 

"Bill, thet hoss looks ez tho' he hed the sweeney, wunct?" 
remarks a looker-on. 

"Hits an infernal lie!" returns Bill,' emphatically. 

" Yas, "begins a cadaverous-cheeked, long-drawn-out deni- 
zen from over the mountain, who has circled clear around the 
animal and his rider: "He's the very hoss-brute ez hed it 
Tuk hit when they wuz drivin' 'im.in Toe Eldridge's sorghum 
mill." 

The rider, meanwhile, begins to look discouraged. 

"He kicked Tom Malley powerful bad, ef thet's the animal 
Tom uster own," chimes in another observer. 

" Mebby you thinks this hoss needs buryin'," remarks Bill, 
sarcastically; " He'll hev more life in 'im twenty ye'r from now 
than airy o' you'uns hev ter-day." 

" Ef he aint blind on his off side ye kin ride over me," says 
one critic, turning the horse's head around, and then dropping 
the bridle as Bill reaches over to strike him. 

" He's a good 'un on the go, tho' ; " and at this bland remark 
of a friendly farmer, Bill begins to revive. 

"You're right," exclaims the rider. 

"Is thet so!" thunders a heavy-set fellow, following his 
utterance by clasping Bill around the waist and hauling him off 
the steed, which proves to be old enough to stand still without 
demurring. 



96 The Valley of the Noon- Day Sun. 

"I reckon I'll try him myself, Bill," he says, as he thrusts 
one foot into the stirrup, and throws a long leg over the saddle, 
" and ef he's got a fa'r gait I mought gin ye a swap. Look at 
yan mule, while I ride him sorter peert for a few rod." 

An examination on the part of both swappers always results 
in a trade, boot being frequently given. A chance to make a 
change in horseflesh is never let slip by a natural-born trader. 
The life of his business consists in quick and frequent bargains; 
and at the end of a busy month he is either mounted on a good 
saddle horse, or is reduced to an old rack, blind and lame. The 
result will be due to the shrewdness or dullness of the men he 
dealt with, or the unexpected sickness on his hands of what was 
considered a sound animal. 

One or more of the numerous candidates (Democratic, Re- 
publican, Independent, or otherwise) for county or state honors 
will likely descend on the green before the sport is over. He 
will shake hands with every full-fledged voter present, — shaking 
with his own peculiar grip, which one, with some plausibility, 
might be misled into believing meant "God bless you," instead 
of "Be at the November polls for me — and liberty." Most of 
the men understand the soft solder of the fawning politician, 
and exchange winks with one another, as in succession each one 
is button-holed by the aspirant. , 

It is generally an orderly crowd, and arrangements are soon 
made for the first shot. At sixty yards from the white piece 
of black-centered paper, the shooter lays himself flat on the 
ground ; and, with his rifle (covered with a long tin shade to 
keep out the glaring sunlight) resting over a rail, he takes de- 
liberate aim and pulls the trigger. A center shot meets with 
applause. Thus the day goes by, until every share has been 
blazed away, the beef is butchered and divided, and the lucky 
marksmen stagger homeward, each with his quarter in a sack 
on one shoulder and his rifle on the other. If daylight still 



In the Cradle of the Nantihala. gy 

remains, some of the crowd often engage in a squirrel hunt. It 
is no trouble to kill gray squirrels in any of the woods. The 
crack marksman with a rifle generally barks his squirrel. Bark- 
ing a squirrel is one of the fine arts. The hunter takes aim and 
fires at the upper edge of the limb on which the squirrel sits, 
instantly killing him from concussion created by the splintered 
bark. 

But let us pursue the river from the Cheowah mountain to 
the Little Tennessee. It is a distance of twelve miles, and not 
once do the road and stream part company. At Widow Nel- 
son's it is a white winding-sheet of rapids, as far as the eye can 
reach. A hundred yards by the house, and the mountains 
draw themselves together again. The road straggles around the 
foot of a cliff. The waters roar and splash beside it. Over- 
head, the foliage is of a brilliant green, and the sky usually a 
transparent blue. By the dilapidated dwelling of Widow Jarett 
you soon pass. There is a cleared tract of land here. Across 
the river, with its foot in the water, one of the Nantihala range 
towers 2,000 feet above the valley. You must lean back to 
look upward along its green face and see the edge of the sum- 
mit. Up one steep ravine is a trail leading to Bri'er Town. It 
is termed the Cat's Stairs. Your mule must be dragged by the 
bridle if you attempt the ascent. 

Three miles down the stream, as you issue from the forest on 
the brow of a gentle declivity, a wild picture lies spread before 
the eyes. You are looking across a long pent-in vale. On one 
side the Anderson Roughs, lofty and impending, with steep 
ridges, one behind the other, descending to the river, reach 
away to where the blue sky dips in between them and the last 
visible perpendicular wall that frowns along the valley's opposite 
border. The wildness of the scene is heightened instead of 
softened by the vision of Campbell's lowly cabin in the center 
of the narrow corn-fields. You see the smoke above its black- 



98 The Valley of the Noon- Day Sun. 

ened roof; several uncombed children tumbling in the sunshine ; 
the rail fence close by its frail porch ; and, beyond it, the limpid 
Nantihala, smooth and turbulent alternately, and filling the ears 
with its loud monotone. (See Frontispiece.) 

" Buck " Campbell is a whole-souled fellow ; his wife, a pleas- 
ant woman. If you have time, stop here. Excepting the 
good-natured bearing of the mountaineer and his wife, you will 
see nothing inviting about the place, until the table is set for 
supper, out in the open air, at one end of the cabin. The meal 
will be an appetizing one. Between each bite you take of a 
smoking piece of corn-dodger, you can look up at the shadowed 
front of the Anderson Roughs (for long since the western wall 
has intercepted the sunlight from pouring on it), and watch how 
the shadows thicken, while still the sky is bright and clear 
above. The signification of nooivday sun, as applied to the 
river, will strike you forcibly. Late in the morning and early 
in the evening the valley is in shade. There is but one room in 
the cabin, consequently you will all sleep together, and awake 
in the morning feeling that there is something in the humblest 
path of life to keep a man happy. 

Every morning, except in winter, a heavy fog fills the valley. 
This is unfavorable for the cultivation of small grain, conse- 
quently corn is the only profitable production on the Nantihala. 
Issuing from the cabin, you jump the fence and go to the river 
to perform your ablutions. A tin basin is not one of Camp- 
bell's possessions. You are sure of clean water, however; and, 
leaning over the river's bosom, you have something to act as a 
mirror, while you comb your hair with your fingers. If you 
yell for it, a towel will be brought by one of a pair of black- 
eyed youngsters, fondly called -'Dutch" and "Curly" by their 
father. Campbell says he believes in nicknaming his children; 
for he does not see why they should" go by their proper names 



Lightning in Clear Skies. 



99 



any more than people should call hirn "Buck," instead of Alex- 
ander. 

By 9 o'clock the mist has rolled itself in clouds and drifted 
up the heights, a belt of sunshine is half way down the moun- 
tain on the west, and day has fairly dawned. If it is in the 
early fall, the drum of the pheasant may be heard from the 
near woods. The quail has ceased his piping for the season, 
but he has by no means migrated, as one might infer from his 
silence ; for if you stroll through the fields, great bevies will fre- 
quently rise from your feet and start in all directions with such 
a whirr of wings that you will jump in spite of yourself. I 
have started wood-cock in the wet tangles of the mountain 
streams, but they are rare birds., 

Only two houses are between Campbell's and the mouth of 
the river, ten miles below. . This sort of a solitude is not infre- 
quent on a highway across a mountain range, but the like is 
seldom seen along a river. Rich forests are entered just below 
Campbell's. The trees grow to an unusual height. With un- 
derbrush they cover all the landscape, except the few cliffs on 
the summits of the peaks, and at the water's edge. The variety 
is something remarkable. I counted twenty-three distinct spe- 
cies of timber in one woodland. The road, at times, winds 
around the mountain ioo yards above the river. It sparkles 
directly below through the trees. Across the gorge the Nanti- 
halas lift their shaggy heads, at some points, like that of the 
Devil's chin, exposing bare rocks above the clambering forests. 
Storms through this section are fierce, but of, short duration. 
With the wind bearing down the river, a flash of lightning in 
the clear, narrow strip of sky will be the first premonitor of 
the storm. Then a black shroud will drift over half the strip ; 
and with it comes, along between the valley's green walls, thin 
clouds like smoke that fling themselves upon the piny spurs of 
the mountains, hiding them from view. Immediately you hear 

LOFC. 



IOO The Valley of the Noon-Day Sun. 

the rain drops pattering through the leaves, and the trees sway- 
ing beneath a blast that soon carries off the rack. Frequently 
not a drop of rain will touch you, while close by, the moun- 
tain steeps are drenched. The waters of the river grow deeper, 
roar louder, and a few minutes after the last rain drop fell, a 
sullen flood is sweeping between the banks. It is strange in 
how short a time a flood is created in a mountain valley, and 
how soon it wears itself away. At your stand far down the 
valley, you may not even know that a storm has been visiting 
the sources of the stream, for the black clouds rolled over the 
summits of the lofty mountains have escaped your observation. 
But a few minutes elapse, and the fords are impassible. Wait 
patiently, however, and you can see the waters subside and the 
landmarks appear as before. 

Between Campbell's and the next farm there is an exposed 
vein of soap-stone. From all indications it is inexhaustible, 
but at present it is unworked. Wherever cliffs are exposed, 
huge marble slabs, white and variegated, extend into the river. 
Where these slabs cross the road, their angular corners make a 
road-bed of the roughest character. At every road-working 
the gaps between the rocks are filled up, but the next freshet 
carries away the filling. It is not advisable to attempt a journey 
over it, except on horseback or a-foot. The Western North 
Carolina railroad will occupy the larger portion of this road. 
The question is, Where will they lay, for the mountaineers, a 
road in place of the one they have taken? The requirements 
of the statute will not be complied with, unless a miracle is 
performed. 

Miller's is frame house that, from the fact of loose clapboards 
hanging to it, looks well ventilated. If it was ever painted, 
there is no evidence to show it ; for the sides are as dingy as 
twenty years could make them. A two-story porch is in front, 
and before that a treeless, grassless yard. Miller looks like 



A Discomfited Forager. IOI 

Rip Van Winkle. The last time we passed, he was carrying an 
armful of fodder to some starved-looking cows. It was 2 
o'clock, and we had had no dinner. On inquiring whether our 
wants could be satisfied, he directed us to his " old woman." 

One of our number unfastened the rickety gate, and walked 
towards the house. A vicious dog came forth with loud bark- 
ing from a hole under the porch, where he had been premeditat- 
ing an onslaught. The sight of a stone in the hand of the new- 
comer caused him to defer operations until a more convenient 
season. 

"Can we get something to eat here?" was asked of the 
woman who had appeared to call the dog under shelter. 

"I'll see," she said, and turned to go in. 

A line of bee gums on the sagging upper porch had already 
been observed by our forager, and consequently he was not 
taken by surprise when a swarm of -bees alighted on his head 
and shoulders. Nevertheless, he was discomforted, and without 
waiting for the returns he struck in a straight line for the fence. 
The dog, with considerable alacrity, followed suit, and succeeded 
in securing a nip as he scaled the rails. The bees reached us all 
just at that time, and turning up the collars of our flannel 
shirts, we started our horses up the road like racers bearing 
down on the winning pole. This was our only attempt to call 
at Miller's. 

The scenery for the next four miles is a series in close suc- 
cession of views wilder than any on the French Broad. There 
is nothing like it elsewhere in the Alleghanies. The valley 
. between the mountains, through which the Nantihala pours, is 
much deeper than that of any other mountain river. The only 
passage-way that equals it in narrowness alone is the canon of 
Linville river, lying below the falls, and between the craggy 
steeps of Jonas Ridge and Linville mountains. At the most 
picturesque points the waters sweep in thundering rapids over 



102 



The Valley of the Noon-Day Sun. 




great marble ledges. The road is stone- 
paved at the feet of broken-fronted cliffs, 
dripping with icy water, green with mosses, 
or brown in nakedness of rock. Across 
the narrow channel, brilliant leafed birches 
lean over the agitated current. At the 
margin of the stream the slope of the oppo- 
site mountains begins, which, with impend- 
ing forests on their precipitous fronts, lift 
themselves to dizzy altitudes. At times 
whimpering hawks, circling above the crags, 
may be heard and seen ; but rarely will 
any other evidences of life be manifest. 
In two places abandoned clearings lie by 
the road. They are over-run with wild 
blackberry bushes and clumps of young 
a narrow water-way forest trees Two roo fle S s cabins are in 

their centers ; and a few apple trees rise above the rank growth 
of briers. - From appearances, one would judge it to be a score 
of years since last a barking dog raced back and forth behind 
the scattered fence rails concealed by the thickets ; or its own- 
er, from the entrance to the cabin, saluted the passing traveler. 

About one mile below Miller's is a spot eminently character- 
istic of the Nantihala's scenery. The valley has narrowed to a 
canon. The road runs through a dense wood. Not a rock is 
exposed under the trees, or on the perpendicular faces of the 
mountains. You seem to be in a great, deep well. Only a 
small circle of sky is visible. 

In the course of its windings, the road at length is crowded 
into the river and fording is necessary. There is no danger, 
unless the water is high from a freshet ; and there is nothing to 
dread in the passage, unless you are on foot. In the latter case 
you must wade. The water is too deep for rolling up your 



An Antlercd Monarch and His Mates. 103 

pantaloons, but your upper garments may be kept on and dry, 
unless the swift current and slippery rocks conspire to give you 
a gentle ducking. The river is quite wide at this only ford on 
the valley road. From mid-stream a long stretch of river is 
visible. Usually a shimmer of sunlight lies on the the ripples 
down its center, while cool shadows darken its surface by the 
banks. The green trees lean lovingly over it, and a soft breeze, 
as constant in its blowing as the flowing of the water, will fan 
your face. A fascinating solitariness pervades the picture; and 
this was enhanced, when we saw it, by a group of three deer, 
a buck and two does, which, with the antlered monarch in the 
lead, had just left the forest and were standing knee-deep in the 
icy water at some distance from our point of observation. A 
moment they stood there with erected heads looking toward 
us; and then, .with quick movements, regained the nearest bank 
and disappeared into the wild wood. 

If the traveler is observant, he will notice, soon after passing 
the ford, a long dug-out fastened to the bank at the end of a 
beaten path ; and between the trees see a lonely cabin on the 
opposite side of the river. The dug-out and a slippery ford 
near by, are the only links connecting the cabin's occupants 
with a road. The spot appears too isolated to be either pleas- 
ant or romantic. One of the many fish traps seen in all the 
mountain rivers is near this cabin. It is built, like they all are, 
in a shallow reach of the river. It consists of a low V shaped 
dam, constructed of either logs or rocks, with angle pointing 
down stream. The volume of the water pours through the 
angle where is arranged a series of slats, with openings between, 
large enough to admit the passage of a fish into a box set 
below for its receptacle. Every day its owner paddles his 
canoe out to the angle of the dam, and empties the contents of 
the box into the boat. This method of fishing is unsportsman- 
like, to say the least. 



104 The Valley of the Noon- Day Sun. 

Near the head of one of the islands of the Nantihala, the 
road from over Stecoah mountain appears on the opposite bank, 
and by a wide ford reaches the main road. By the Stecoah 
mountain highway, it is twenty miles to Robbinsville in the 
center of Graham county. There are no scenes of striking 
grandeur along the route, but the traveler will be interested in 
way-side pictures. A primitive " corncracker " at one point 
is likely to produce a lasting impression. It is a tall, frail 
structure with gaps a foot wide between every two logs. 
Through these cracks can be seen the hopper, and the stones 
working at their daily bushel of grain, deposited therein at 
dawn by the miller, and left, without watching, to be converted 
into meal by his return. One would conceive that other mills 
than the gods' grind slowly. It is a small volume of water 
that pours through the flume, by means of a race, — a long, 
small trough, made of boards, rotten and moss-grown, and 
elevated on log foundations, about ten feet above the ground. 
Reaching back toward the wooded hill-side, fifty yards away, 
it receives the waters of a mountain stream. I have seen 
mills in the mountains, forming with roof, hopper, and all, a 
structure no larger than a hackney coach. 

Along the road to Robbinsville, for fifteen miles, the pre- 
dominating family is Crisp. It is Crisp who lives in the valley, 
on the mountain side, in the woods, by the mill, on the bank 
of Yellow creek, and in numerous unseen cabins up the coves. 
In fact Crisp seems ubiquitous. Robbinsville has eight or ten 
houses, one of which serves for a hotel ; a store ; a court- 
house, church, and school-house. Near it flows Cheowah 
creek, through fertile valleys. The finest tract of land in the 
county is owned by General Smythe, of Newark, Ohio, and is 
called the Junaluska farm. It is situated near the village, on 
the banks of Long creek, and consists of 1,500 acres, 400 or 



Into the Little Tennessee. 105 

500 acres of which are cleared valley land of rich, loamy soil. 
In this locality a number of Indian families own homes. 

After this slight digression, let us turn to the Nantihala. A 
short distance from the Stecoah highway ford, the river empties 
into the Little Tennessee. Just before reaching that point, the 
road diverges from beside the crystal current ; the valley widens 
out; a deeper roar of mightier waters arises; and, soon after, 
having reached the bank of the Little Tennessee, you enter its 
ford, and, turning in the saddle, take a parting look at the close- 
ly parallel mountain ranges, and the narrow space between 
them, known as the valley of the Noon-day Sun. 



WITH ROD AND LINE. 



Blest silent groves, O, may you be, 
Forever, mirth's best nursery ! 

May pure contents 

Forever pitch their tents 
Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains ! 
And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, 

Which we may every year 

Meet, when we come a-fishing here. 

— Sir Henry Wotton. 

^ScTREAMS, from which the angler can soon fiL his basket 
%c^ E with trout, are not wanting in these mountains. It is the 
cold, pure waters, that spring from the perpetual fountains of 
the heights, that this royal fish inhabits. Show me a swift and 
amber-colored stream, babbling down the mountain slope under 
dense, luxurious forests, and, between laureled banks, issuing with 
rapids and cascades into a primitive valley, and I will insure that 
in it swims, in countless numbers, the prized fish of the angler. 
You or I may not be able to demonstrate this assertion ; but the 
urchin with smiling face, yellow hair, torn shirt, suspenderless 
pantaloons, bare feet, and legs nude to his knees — this untaught 
boy, who lives in yonder homely hut amid the chestnut trees — 

107 



108 With Rod and Line. 

will soon convince you of the truth of what I say, and besides, 
give you a few points, impossible to secure from piscatorial 
books, on how to catch the trout. I do not mean to say that 
the angler will meet with success at every point on one of these 
streams ; for along its lower stretches, as the primeval character 
of the valley vanishes, as the water grows warmer under fre- 
quent floods of sunshine, and, losing its resinous color, flows 
with glassy surface between more open banks, the sport be- 
comes less captivating, until only the chub and shiner rise to 
the fly. 

The best trout-fishing, like the best hunting, is to be found in 
the wildest sections. The advance of civilization lessens the 
sport as rapidly as it thins the herds of deer along the wooded 
margins of the streams. Whether it be the disturbance of the 
waters by the line of active saw-mills, that with each year 
reaches deeper into the mountain solitudes, and the receding 
of the forests beneath the woodman's axe ; or the advent of 
the barefoot angler, that effects this change, makes no difference 
with my statement ; for it is advancing civilization that brings 
them both. 

But few persons are unfamiliar with the trout. What they 
have not learned from actual experience concerning its habits and 
appearance, has been obtained from books. The trout has been 
a standing theme for poets, and more has been written about it 
than any other fish. That honest and enthusiastic old angler, 
Isaak Walton, thus sums up, in a few words, his nature and 
habits : 

" The trout is a fish highly valued in this and foreign nations. He may be justly said, 
as the old poet said of wine, and we English say of venison, to be a generous fish : a fish 
that is so like the buck, that he also ha*s his seasons ; for it is observed that he comes in 
and goes out of season with the stag and buck. Gesner says his name is of German off- 
spring, and says he is a fish that feeds clean and purely, in the swiftest streams, and on 
the hardest gravel ; and that he may justly contend with all fresh-water fish, as the mullet 
may with all sea-fish, for precedency and daintiness of taste, and that, being in right 
season, the most dainty palates have allowed precedency to him." 



Twenty-seven at a Meal. 109 

The brook trout of the North Carolina mountains seldom 
exceeds a foot in length, and weighs from a few ounces to three- 
quarters of a pound. It is of a brown color on its back with 
darker brown, reticulated stripes. Its sides are of a lighter color 
and speckled with bright pink and golden, round dots, while its 
belly is silver white or light yellow. The dorsal fins are red- 
dish ; the first row of fins behind the gills and those on its 
belly are generally edged with white and black. This is its 
usual appearance, but trout caught in the same pool often vary 
in their colors. Different waters also change the shade of the 
body-coloring and strikingly vary the hue of the spots. In 
deep pools the trout is of a darker shade with deep red spots ; 
while in the shallow ripples it runs to the other extreme, show- 
ing a silver belly and sides sprinkled with bright pink. It has 
no scales ; nor does it require — like its scaleless brothers, the 
slimy cat-fish and bull-pout — hot water and a scraping knife to 
fit it for the table. 

The mountaineer's plan of frying it with its head on in butter 
and corn-meal is the best for the palate. The color of the trout 
when cooked is generally salmon-yellow, but frequently it is as 
white as the flesh of a bass. It would require a finely tempered 
palate to discover any difference between the two varieties. 
As you buy them of the native fish-boy, at the rate of a cent a 
piece, it takes a long string to make a respectable meal for a 
man with a mountain appetite. The quaint pronunciation of 
" mounting" for mountain might better be used, in this connec- 
tion, to convey an exact but wider meaning. I have knowl- 
edge, from seeing the feat performed, of one man who, in a 
single meal, devoured twenty-seven of these fish, and that with- 
out apparent discomfiture. However, he probably picked out 
the smallest of the fry. 

For fishing in the mountain brooks, the most important 
thing required is a pair of rubber boots. Those knee-high will 



1 10 With Rod and Line. 

suit the purpose ; for, although in the wildest streams a man is 
compelled to wade almost all the time, he can avoid the deepest 
holes by springing from rock to rock. The kind used for 
marsh, duck hunting, which reach to the hips, would be too 
burdensome to wear for miles down an impetuous current. As 
far as rods are concerned, a slender birch cut from the bank of 
the stream will answer every purpose of a ringed and jointed rod; 
for reels with lines of fifty or more yards can not be used with 
any advantage. A silk or hair line, as long as the pole, is all 
the length required. If the sportsman, however, wishes to 
indulge in fishing for bass, salmon, or perch in the broad creeks 
or rivers, it would be well to have the angler's complete outfit. 
In many sections he can take a turn at this sport in connection 
with what is considered the higher branch of the art. As for 
artificial flies, have a supply with you, and use the one nearest 
like the one in season ; or, what is better, let the tow-head 
urchin give you a suggestion. It makes a great difference in 
the choice of your flies whether the stream is crystal in clear- 
ness, or is slightly discolored by a recent rain ; and whether 
you have ventured out before breakfast, or the day is drawing 
to a close. It would be strange if at the latter hour a white or 
yellow fly, like those dropping on the surface of the stream, 
could not be used with pleasing returns. 

The best fishing I ever saw done was by a mountaineer, one 
day in early June, who used a green-winged, yellow-bodied, 
artificial fly with a stick-bait worm strung on the hook. As we 
followed down the current, at every cast of his line he pulled a 
speckled trout from the water. The stick-bait is a small, white 
worm found in tiny bundles of water-soaked twigs along the 
edges of the stream. The twigs seem glued together, and when 
opened, reveal an occupant. In early spring, with a light sinker 
on your line, the common, red angle-worm on a featherless 
hook can be used with advantage. 



The Season of Soft Skies. ill 

A great deal has been written on how to catch trout, but these 
kindly suggestions are of about as much value as rules on how 
to swim without practice in the water. It requires a knack to 
catch trout; it is really an art; and no one can ever succeed in 
bringing into camp a long string of the speckled beauties, until 
after a novitiate of several days actual fishing, — or unless he 
meets and strikes a bargain with a small boy who has had a suc- 
cessful morning sport. 

May is the paragon of months for the angler. Take it in the 
middle of the month, and if the tourist following and whipping 
some well-known trout stream, fails to catch fish, let him neither 
condemn the stream or the season, but with reason draw the 
conclusion that he is a bungler in the art of trout-fishing. The 
genial breezes and soft skies should draw every genuine lover of 
nature to the mountains. The deciduous forests of the valleys 
are again beautiful with their fresh, foliage, destroying the con- 
trast of the winter between their dun outlines and the green 
fronts of the higher pine groves, or the bodies of the giant hem- 
locks scattered in their midst. Winter's traces, however, are 
not fully concealed ; for there is still a line of bare woods 
between the green line slowly creeping up the slopes and the 
lower edges of the lofty, black balsam wildernesses. But every 
day, new sprouts of leaves appear, and soon the entire body of 
the wood-lands will have donned its summer mantle. The grass 
is of a bright green on the hill-sides ; in the orchards, the apple 
trees are in full bloom ; while the blossoms of the cherry are 
being scattered on the wings of breezes from the aromatic 
balsams. The valleys, on either side the narrow woods lining 
the banks of the streams, are dark green with sprouting fields 
of wheat and rye, or of lighter shade where the tender blades 
of the corn are springing. 

In the forests Which belt the streams, the bell-wood is 
white with blossoms, and every dog-wood white with flowers. 



1 1 2 With Rod and Line. . 

' ' When the dog-wood is in bloom, then is the time to catch 
trout," is a -true, though trite, observation. At the same time 
the sassafras is yellow with buds, and the red maple, purple. 
A straggler along the wood-land path, between hedges of the 
budding kalmia, or ivy as the mountaineers term it, will be 
regaled with the delicious fragrance of the wild-plum and crab- 
apple whose white and pink blossomed trees are often entirely 
hidden by the clumps of alder or the close sides of the hedges. 
The wild grape also sheds an unequalled perfume. The path 
occasionally issues from the shrubbery, and pursues its way 
under the open trees, with the hurrying stream on one hand, 
and pleasing glades on the other. The woodland is vocal with 
the robin, red-bird and oriole, and the liquid murmur of the 
stream. The early violet still graces the sides of the path, and 
the crimson-tipped daisy is to be found in sunny spaces. 

Let the evening come. At its approach, the keen-piped 
"bob-white " of the male quail grows less and less frequent in 
the fields, and after its call has entirely ceased, and the moun- 
tains grow gray, then finally resolve to black, formless masses, 
the cfy of the whip-poor-will rings wild and peculiar out of the 
darkness above the meadows. If the night is free from rain, 
the forests and clearings will be ablaze with fire-flies. Millions 
of these insects spring into life with the dusk. Every yard of 
air is peopled with them ; and for one who has never ventured 
into the country at night, their bright bodies flashing above the 
road, and under and amid the branches of the trees, would cer- 
tainly fill him with profound astonishment. 

As has been described in the geographical sketch, in this 
volume, Western North Carolina is a mountainous expanse, 
measuring about 200 miles in length by an average breadth of 
mountain plateau of 30 miles, yet in all this area there is not 
one lake. This seems a singular fact when" contrasted with what 
is known of the waters of other mountain regions. There is 



Artificial Trout Ponds. 1 13 

no lack of water, however, in the Carolina mountains. It 
gushes up from thousands of springs in every valley, on every 
mountain slope and summit; but nowhere does it find a deep, 
wide basin in which to rest itself before hurrying to the sea. 
There are a few ponds in some of the valleys, but they are 
small, and are all artificial. Many are stocked with trout, from 
which the owners' tables are easily supplied. One of these 
ponds is at Estes' place near Blowing Rock. Trout are, at 
intervals, bagged in the brooks near by, and then freed in its 
waters. The tourist can be paddled in a boat over the clear 
surface, under which the standing trunks of the flooded trees 
are visible, and may be fortunate enough to pull out a few fish ; 
but the fascination of killing the game in the mountain torrents 
is wholly lost. 

Colonel Hampton, of Cashier's valley, has a well stocked 
trout pond formed by the dammed up waters of Cashier creek. 
A screen fastened into the dam allows the escape of nothing 
but the water. The spawn is deposited high up the channels 
of the limpid streams, which empty into this pond. A fortune 
could be made in fish culture in the Carolina mountains. The 
valley of Jamestown, six miles east of Cashier's valley, is admir- 
ably suited for an enterprise of this kind. A lake of six square 
miles could be formed here by damming, at a narrow gorge, a 
fork of Toxaway. 

The headwaters of all the rivers may be whipped with suc- 
cess for trout. An exception to this general statement must 
be made of the slow-flowing Little Tennessee; the headwaters 
of its tributaries, however, teem with speckled habitants. Those 
streams most widely known as trout streams, while they, in fact, 
afford fine sport, are not to be compared with many loud-roar- 
ing little creeks, almost wholly unknown, even by the denizens 
of the vales into which they descend. Let the angler go to 
the loneliest solitudes, strike a stream as it issues from the bal- 



1 14 With Rod and Line. 

sams; and, following it to its mouth through miles of laurel 
tangle, he will cover himself with glory. It will be a well filled 
basket which he carries ; therefore his wet clothes, his bruised 
body, tired legs, and depleted box of lines and flies left behind 
him on the branches of the trees, ought not to discourage him 
from trying it again. 

For the angler of adventurous spirit and fond of the pictur- 
esque, that prong of the Toe river which flows between the Black 
mountains and the Blue Ridge, would be the stream for him to 
explore. With its North fork, this fork unites to form a wide 
and beautiful river, which flows along the line between Yancy 
and Mitchell counties, and empties into the Nolechucky. Its 
course is due north. Along its upper reaches, for mile after 
mile, not a clearing is to be seen ; not a column of smoke curls 
upward through the trees, unless it be from the open fire before 
the temporary shelter of a benighted cattle-herder, or a party 
of bear-hunters ; not an echo from the cliffs of dog or man ; 
only the sombre, mossy wood?, the rocks, crags and the stream 
beside the primitive path ; the loud roar of rapids and cascades, 
or the low murmur of impetuous waters, sweeping under the 
rich drapery of the vines. One is not only outside the pale of 
civilized life, but is widely separated from visible connections 
with humanity. Let him shout with all the strength of his lungs, 
no one will hear him or the deep, sepulchral echo that comes 
up from the black-wooded defiles. A jay from out a wild 
cherry may answer him, or an eagle, circling high over-head, 
scream back as if in defiance to the intruder. 

Here are the trout. Every few yards there are deep, clear 
pools, whose dark-lined basins make the surface of the waters 
perfect mirrors, strong and clear ; so that the handsome man, 
for fear of the fate of Narcissus, would better avoid leaning over 
them. Such pools are the haunts of trout of largest size. 
They dwell in them as though protected by title-deeds ; and old 



The Trip to the Toe, 115 

fishermen say that every trout clings to his favorite pool with 
singular tenacity. Natural death, the delusive hook, or larger 
fish that have been ousted from their own domains, are all the 
causes that can take the trout from his hereditary haunts. Here, 
in the still waters under a bridging log, or in some hole amid 
the exposed water-sunk roots of the rhododendron, lie the king 
trout, during the middle of the day, on the watch for stray 
worms, or silly gnats, and millers which flit above, then drop 
in the waters, with as much wisdom and facility as they hover 
around and burn up in the candle flame. 

My presumption, in the following suggestions, is that the 
angler is able-bodied, not disinclined to walking, and of the 
male gender. Leave the railroad at Black Mountain station. 
From the station it is six miles to the foot of the Black moun- 
tains. The walking is good along the roads, if no rain is fall- 
ing. One board nailed to a post on the bank of the Swanna- 
noa, will inform you that in the direction you have come is 
" Black Mt. deepo4mi." This will convince you that some 
one in the neighborhood believes in the phonetic system of 
spelling. The Swannanoa presents a few beautiful pictures 
along the roadside. The farm-houses, with great chimneys on 
the outside at both gable ends, will look queer to the North- 
erner; and to one who lives in a marshy, sandy, or prairie sec- 
tion of country, the old fences along some stretches of road, 
made wholly of boulders gathered from the fields, will excite 
interest. Many of them are overrun with vines, and in sections 
are as green as the hedge that lines the side of the rocky road 
nearest the stream. There are a number of foot-logs on the 
route, but it requires no skill to cross them, even if a rude rail- 
ings are not at their sides. It might be advisable to state that 
there is a house in the vicinity where pure whisky and apple- 
jack can be bought, for it is a wise thing to have a little liquor 
in one's pocket, on a mountain excursion. It is an antidote for 



1 1 6 With Rod and Line. 

the bite of a rattle-snake ; and simply to provide for such a 
dread emergency, should it be carried. There is a prevalent 
idea that whisky drank during a mountain climb is a help to a 
man. It is the worst thing a person can use at such a time. 
Water only should be drank ; and, if that does not help the ex- 
hausted climber, it takes no wise head to advise an hour's rest 
under a forest monarch beside the path. 

Now, as there has been a casual mention made of rattle- 
snakes, a few words on that subject is suggested. There are 
few of them in the mountains, the numbers varying according 
to the condition of the country. From most sections they have 
disappeared, and it is only by singular mischance that the 
traveler stumbles across one. During four summers, in which 
the writer traversed all of the mountain section, he saw but one 
live rattle-snake, and only four dead ones. However, he heard 
many snake stories ; but he knows of only two men who were 
bitten by the venomous reptiles. The mountaineers say that in 
one of the summer months the snakes undertake a pilgrimage, 
crossing the valleys from one peak to another. This report 
conflicts with the stories of their hereditary dens. Perhaps 
they return after the flight of the summer. From the same 
source, we learn that in August the snake is blind, and strikes 
without the customary warning whirr of his buttoned tail. Pub- 
lished natural histories are silent on this subject, and too close 
observation from nature is dangerous. Also, at night in summer, 
the rattle-snake forsakes the grass and rocks, and pursues its 
way along the beaten paths. There is nothing particularly 
startling in this latter statement, except to the trafficker in 
" moon-shine, " and the love-lorn mountain lad. Still, if one 
who is at all timid, desires or is required to take an evening 
walk, he can avoid all danger by taking to the grass himself. 

There are well-known cures for snake- bite, applied externally, 
but this does not detract one particle from the fact of their effi- 



Climbing the Blacks. 1 17 

cacy. They consist in binding the opened body of the snake 
itself to the wound ; or, if a live chicken can be caught, cutting 
that open in front and applying it to absorb the poison. All 
these means will fail, however, if a leading artery has been 
directly struck ; otherwise, a man with strong constitution can 
struggle through. 

Before you reach the mountain, engage the services of a guide 
to the summit of Mitchell's Peak, and then down the east side 
to the Toe. Do not allow this senseless name to prejudice' you 
against the stream. It is as beautiful as the name is barbarous. 
The original name, as given by the Indians, was Estatoe, pro- 
nounced with four syllables. Before you engage any one's 
services determine on the price. If you intend to scale 
Mitchell's Peak only, and then descend again to the valley of 
the Swannanoa, as the path is a plain one, you might as well 
go alone as pay $2.50 per day to the professional guide. That 
is their regular charge. 

The climb up the Black mountains is arduous, and a half-day 
is required to complete it. Along the path is a wealth of tim- 
ber that will one day entice into the forest depths something 
livelier than the perpendicular saw and its overshot wheel. 
After a five mile tramp, the second base of the Black is reached. 
Here, on an open, grassy tract, once stood the summer resi- 
dence of William Patton, of Charleston, South Carolina. All 
that remains of it are the loose stones of its foundation, and a 
few mouldering timbers. Cattle, grazing in this common pas- 
ture, will ring their bells and low in notice. of your arrival. 
Ravens croak from the balsams, and sail with wings expanded 
overhead. Close before the vision, appalling in its funereal 
coloring and immensity of height, rises the front of the Black 
mountain, the king of the Appalachians, arrayed in those for- 
ests which scorn to spring elsewhere but on the loftiest of 
ranees. 



1 1 8 With Rod and Line. 

For the next five miles the bridle-path leads through woods 
similar to those described at length 'in the sketch on bear hunt- 
ing. If thin puffs of cloud are scurrying through the trees 
and brushing against you, do not betray your ignorance by ask- 
ing the guide where the smoke comes from. They have every 
appearance of smoke, and it is the most natural thing in the 
world for you to ask this question. On Mitchell's Peak it is 
advisable tc remain all night, and a shelving rock, a short dis- 
tance down from the summit, will furnish excellent quarters 
after wood is brought for a great fire before it. Eat your cold 
snack, drink a cup of clear, hot coffee, and, rolling up in your 
blanket, dream of trout fishing in the Toe. Most likely they 
will be waking dreams ; for a high old fire blazing in your eyes, 
and a cold rock under you, are not conducive to slumber 
Even in May your back will almost freeze while your front 
grows hot enough to crackle. 

If no clouds wrap the pinnacle of Mitchell's Peak, this, the 
highest mountain east of the Mississippi, will afford to the en- 
thusiastic angler the grandest of prospects, 

"When heaven's wide arch 
Is glorious with the sun's returning march." 

No two mornings will present the same panoply of cloud 
over the eastern mountainous horizon, the coloring will vary, 
the mists will cling in differing silver folds in the hollows of the 
hills, but changeless in its outlines will lie the soft purple moun- 
tain ocean. 

Mitchell's Peak rises to an elevation of 6,711 feet, and forms 
one of the spurs in the short, lofty backbone of a range termed, 
from the somber forests covering its upper slopes, the Black 
mountains. The range is about twenty miles in length. It is 
wholly in Yancy county, and trends due north toward the Iron 
mountains. A wide gap, filled with low mountains and the val- 
leys of the Toe, stretches between its northern terminal point, 
Bowlen's Pyramid, and the Smokies. On the summit of Mitch- 



A Ghost Story. ug 

ell's Peak is the solitary grave of Professor Elisha Mitchell, 
piled round with stones, and at present bare of monument. 

The descent to the Toe is a difficult journey down the east 
slope of the mountain. The exact distance in miles is unknown. 
You can guess at it as well as the guide, and most likely there 
will be no difference between his and your figures ; for his will 
be stretched by exaggeration, and your's by the tediousness of 
the descent. As soon as you reach the stream pay and dismiss 
him, and pursue your way, casting your flies where the water 
is most inviting. There is no reason why ioo trout should 
not grace the angler's string by the time he has finished for the 
day, and, at some humble cabin far below, is snugly ensconsed 
for the night. 

^— ~~- ^ There are many 

y^ ; \ spots of rare, syl- 

van beauty in the 
region of the up- 
per Toe ; many 
spots of wild and 
melancholy mag- 
nificence, — dells 
that seem the nat- 
ural haunts for sa- 
tyrs and fawns, 
and where a mod- 
ern Walter Scott 
might weave and 
locate some most 
fas cinating fic- 
tions. The moun- 
taineer is apparent 
ly devoid of super- 
stition ; and, as far 
A gltmpse of the toe. as t he writer could 




1 20 With Rod and Line. 

ascertain, no legends, like those of the Catskills, shed their hal- 
lowed light on an)' portion of the solitude. In lieu of a legend 
let him tell a ghost story. 

One ghost has no known grave ; the other's lies beside the 
stream in an umbrageous dale high up in the mountains. The 
careless stranger passing down the mountain would not perceive 
it. It is a low mound scarcely rising above the level ground. 
Covering it are light-green mosses, as ancient apparently as the 
lichens which decorate the trunk of the the two-hundred-year- 
old water birch standing in lieu of a headstone at one end of it. 
There are no rocks or stones to be seen, except on the opposite 
side of the tree where its roots are exposed. The stream is 
noisy ; but it could not be otherwise in so rocky a channel, 
and so is excusable for disturbing the quiet of the grave. There 
are other trees shadowing the circle, but beside the monarch 
birch they sink into insignificance. In the grave was once 
placed the cold form of a white-haired old man ; but half a cen- 
tury has passed since then, and what was flesh and bone has 
long ago resolved to natural dust. 

This dust was Daniel Smith. He came from Tennessee, up 
the Nolechucky and the Toe to this dale. His widowed daugh- 
ter and her baby boy were with him when he built a log cabin, 
and formed a clearing. On the same side of the creek, fifty 
steps from the grave, there is a space of several acres grown 
with trees of fewer years and lesser height than the surround- 
ing pristine forest. In the center of this fresh wood, amid the 
brambles and briers, the straggler, by pulling them aside, will 
perceive a few crumbling stones piled in a heap like the ruin of 
a chimney. If there is a single timber concealed under the 
bushes, the foot will sink through it without resistance. It is 
the site of Smith's cabin. A lofty locust with wide-spread 
branches springs, from where once was the hearth-stone. 
Where the babe crept on the puncheon floor, tree-sprouts, with 



A Cloud of Fear. 121 

thorns and thistles, are entangled. It is a desolate spot rendered 
doubly so by the knowledge, had from sight of the chimney 
stones, of what once was there ; and by the black balsams 
which appear along the steep above it. It seems that Hood 
had seen it before he wrote the verse : 

"For over all there hung a cloud of fear, 

A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said , as plain as whisper in the ear, 

The place is haunted !" 

The old man showed no liking for outside associations, and 
scarcely ever appeared at the cabins of the settlers far below 
him. This disposition became more marked after the death of 
his daughter when the boy was about ten years old. He was a 
bright, blue-eyed, curly-haired, little fellow, and always went 
a-fishing with the old man, who was an ardent angler. Never 
was father more wrapped up in his child, than this vener- 
able fisherman in his grandson. He was never seen without the 
boy ; and the stray hunter coming down the trail, often saw 
their forms before him, — the silver-haired man with his fishing 
rod, and the merry, laughing boy with his hand clasping his 
grandsire's. But Death came. During a heavy flood the boy 
was accidentally drowned, and his body was never recovered. 

The old man was now thought to be crazy. He allowed no 
one to enter his cabin, and some said he fished from morning 
till night, in the insane hope of catching his boy, whom he 
imagined, was transformed to a trout. One who had watched 
him from his concealment in a thicket, said that every fish the 
old man caught, he examined carefully, as if searching for some 
peculiar mark, and mumbled to himself: "No, no, not Will this 
time. Strange where the boy is ! " 

One day Daniel Smith's dog, cowed apparently by hunger, 
appeared at a Toe river cabin. The fierce nature of the animal 
was gone; he begged piteously with his eyes and voice, and 



122 With Rod and Line. 

then ate ferociously all that was given him. The settlers, sus- 
pecting the worst, went to Smith's cabin ; forced in the door, 
and found the occupant dead. They buried him under the 
water birch, where the mound marks the place. The same 
figures which attracted the attention of the stray hunter fifty 
years ago, are seen by the hunter and traveler to-day ; but while 
they interested then, they frighten now ; and no one, familiar 
with the story, passes through the dale without turning his head 
in dread and hurrying on. At night, when the moon bathes 
in golden light the dark forests, the straggler professes often to 
have seen before him, in plainly visible, but weird, out-lines, the 
stooped figure of the old angler and his blithe, bare-foot com- 
panion. 

There is good fishing in Cane river, on the west slope of the 
Black mountains. If the angler prefers to try the latter stream, 
instead of the Toe, he can, at a point a short distance before 
reaching the summit of Mitchell's Peak, turn to the left and fol- 
low down a plain trail, fishing as he descends, to "Big Tom" 
Wilson's. From Wilson's it is fifteen miles to Burnsville. It 
is a small, country village, amid sublime surroundings. From 
the high knoll, where stands the academy, a pleasant prospect 
can be obtained. In the morning, as it opens over the rolling 
peaks in the east ; or, as the sun descends behind the receding 
lines of purple ranges, the scenes presented in their glory of 
cloud-coloring, their brilliant effect of light and shade, and the 
soft, poetic splendor of the mountains, are of beauty too divine, 
and of duration too transient, to be caught by the painter. 

Thirty miles west of Asheville, fine sport can be had along 
the Pigeon. Leave the railroad at Pigeon River station. No 
teams can be procured here ; so if you are disinclined to walk- 
ing ten or or twelve miles, continue your trip, to Waynesville, 
and then drive to the desired point. It is an inviting walk up 
the river. The stream flows broad, deep, and clear, through 



Whipping the Pigeon. 123 

rich valleys, affording fine farming land. The level fields are 
green with oats, corn and wheat ; the farm houses are painted 
white, the yards neat in appearance, and everything in keeping 
with the fertility of the soil. The valley views are extremely 
picturesque ; for you are amid some of the loftiest mountains of 
the system. The Balsams lie toward the south ; and if you fol- 
low up the right fork, you will be exalted by the sight of these 
mountains looming along the horizon. The fishing is excellent, 
but the east prong is generally preferred. 

Up the east prong, the wild beauty of stream and woods can- 
not be surpassed. There is such a richness about the foliage, 
such a purity in the waters, such an inspiration of atmosphere, 
that too long-continued companionship might be disastrous to 
your outside, worldly connections. Cold mountain rises on the 
west ; Pisgah on the east. This latter peak is a famous height 
for the sight-seer. It is easily accessible, and from its summit 
the view is almost boundless. The broad valleys, watered by 
the Hominy and French Broad, stretch toward the eastern 
limit. The vales of the Pigeon lie on the west and north. All 
around, the skirts of the plateau are pinned by mountains loftier 
than the one beneath your feet. To the south and west the 
Balsams ; to the north and northwest the Smokies ; and on the 
other verges of the horizon, the Blue Ridge, Saluda, Swanna- 
noa, Craggy, Black, Iron, and Newfound ranges. Your stand- 
point is one of the most symmetrical of peaks, and is always 
marked out by the observer on the streets of Asheville and 
Hendersonville. 

There are agreeable people living on the Pigeon, and among 
them you will fare well, especially if you are an expert angler. 
Explore the wildest ramblings of the stream, and whip every 
pool from the white falls down to the valley known as the old 
Lenoir farm, where there is such a pleasant mingling of wild 



1 24 With Rod and Line. 

and rugged mountain scenery, with rich pastoral landscape, that 
one can never weary of viewing it. 

A famous fishing ground is that section of the great Smokies 
watered by the Cataluche. Besides the trout-fishing, there is 
enough in this region to allure into it not only the angler, and 
hunter, but the painter and poet. It is wildly romantic in every, 
feature. By the well-traveled road that leads from Waynesville 
to Knoxville, Tennessee, the tourist can reach it by a 22 mile 
drive from the former village. The country along Jonathan's 
creek is as fine as that along the Pigeon. An air of prosperity 
pervades ; and as one rattles on over the pebbled road, by the 
pink and white flowering hedges on one side, and the green 
fields on the other, the friendly salutations received by him from 
every man, woman, and child, will convince him that he is not 
in a land of strangers, and that, if any accident befall him, kind 
and willing hands will be ready to render assistance. Besides 
the farm dwellings and their out-buildings, noisy mills are situate 
along the stream ; and in cleared spaces amid the woods, at 
intervals, can be seen country churches and log and frame 
school-houses. Leaving the valley, the road ascends Cove Creek 
mountain, whereon can be obtained a wide-sweeping view of 
nestling vales and receding mountain ranges, Now follows a 
long ride around mountain brows, until at length you draw rein 
before a small, unpainted, frame house, hanging between the 
highway and the abrupt edge of a deep valley, on whose steep 
side a road, like a great yellow snake, winds downward to the 
river. If it is at the close of a bright afternoon, the golden 
streaks of light, gleaming from the gaps and across the pine- 
capped tops of Mount Starling and its black, brother peaks of 
the Smokies, will set in indescribable splendor the mountains to 
the east ; and darker will lie the shadows filling the canon, 
within whose depths, 1, ooo feet below you, glistens the waters of 
Cataluche. 



A Visit to Cataluche. 125 

In spite of the steepness of the canon's side, lofty woods 
cover it, and are as thickly planted along the descending road 
that, after leaving the main highway at the frame dwelling just 
mentioned, no glimpses can be had of the lower landscape. If 
the angler has not brought a jointed rod with him, before he 
has traveled far down this winding way, he can secure from the 
roadside an excellent pole in the shape of a long, lithe birch. 
There is a tumultuous ford of the river to cross just after reach- 
ing the narrow valley, and then the road leads up stream. 

Our party of sixteen ladies and gentlemen, which, on a fish- 
ing excursion, visited the Cataluche river in the early part of 
June, 1879, P u t U P at Mr. Palmer's, the first farm house reached 
after passing the ford. At that time a high, pine picket fence 
enclosed the yard surrounding a roomy house, with large, open 
hall through its center, and a long, wide porch in the rear. In 
spite of our numbers, the farmer and his wife volunteered to 
accommodate us all, and did so in a satisfactory manner. 

The river is no more than 100 yards from the house, and soon 
after our arrival that day two of us, with our rods, started for 
its banks. It was just before dusk, and white millers and gnats 
were fluttering above and dropping on the rapid water. The 
stream seemed perfectly alive with trout, coming up in sight 
with a splatter to secure these dainty morsels. The hour was 
propitious, and we improved it. Without moving from a line 
of smooth, deep-flowing pools, we secured a mess of forty trout 
before it became too dark to cast our lines. Even if you have 
no fishing tackle with you, it is interesting at evening to sit be- 
side a stream and watch the trout secure his prey. A miller 
drops on the water, the swift current carries it for a few feet ; 
then there is a splash and the insect has vanished. If you had 
looked sharp, you would have seen a wary trout dart through 
the water, rise to the surface, slap the miller with his tail to 
kill it, and almost with the same movement suck it into his 



1 26 With Rod and Line. 

mouth. For the very reason that the live fly floats down stream 
this ought to instruct the angler to let his artificial fly drift in 
the same manner; and then, as the quick jerk informs him that 
a trout has struck, pull the line up the current. You must be 
as quick in your movements as the fish is in his, or you will 
lose him. 

After brushing through the weeds. and briers and climbing a 
rambling, rail fence, we came out on the road beside one of our 
friends and a small boy, who appeared to be striking a bargain 
over a long string of trout. The boy " counted on " there 
being a hundred fish in the lot, and just at our arrival he had 
accepted seventy-five cents for them, and was making the trans- 
fer. We signified our perfect willingness to keep dark to the 
rest of the party on how he had secured them. The young 
angler was a bright-looking little fellow, with the clearest of 
complexions, ruddy cheeks and dark hair. He was barefooted 
and wore a straw hat, homespun pantaloons, jacket, and tattered 
shirt ; and, as we stood with him .in the road, he regaled us as 
follows : 

"Did you catch all those trout yourself?" was asked. 

"Yes, sir; an' all ov 'em sence dinner. I heerd you'uns 
war comin', an' I knowed some o' you all cud'nt ketch trouts 
by yourselfs, so I reckoned on arnin' a little by fetchin' in a 
string." 

"What did you catch them with ? " 

"This 'ere." 

He exhibited a hair line and a fly made of a crooked pin, 
wound with a small piece of red flannel and a black and white 
feather. " I hid the pole up yander, "he continued, pointing 
behind him. 

"What, all with a pin hook?" exclaimed the purchaser of 
the trout. 

"Law! yes. Why not? A pin hook '11 do ef you haint got 



An Urchin s Ideas on Angling. 127 

enny other; but I'd like powerful well to hev one o' them store 
hooks you'uns hev." 

We gave him one forthwith, and then asked: "When is the 
best time to fish, son?" 

" When the signs air in the head ; the signs in the awmanac, 
you know." 

' ' Oh, yes. When you haven't fly hooks, what bait is the 
best?" 

"Young hornets." 

" What baits do you use for young hornets?" was next 
asked, and rightly deemed a very important question under the 
circumstances. 

" Rob a nest, " he answered, and continued : " Grasshoppers 
is good, too; so is stickbaits. I don't keer much which I hev; 
they're all good." 

"Well, you're an expert, my son. Why, I believe he could 
catch trout without hook, line, or bait," remarked the pur- 
chaser, with a laugh. 

" In course, I could," returned the boy in a matter-of-fact 
voice ; "I don't need no hooks or bait, I don't." 

" Come, buddy ; no fish stories now." 

"I'd use a snare. They're fust-rate tricks whar the water is 
still an' a little riley. You see I make a runnin' noose in a long 
horse ha'r, or two or three ov 'em tied together on the end o' a 
pole. I watch behind a log till I see a big trout, an' then I drap 
the noose over his head, an', with a quick jerk, snake him out. 
I've caught lots that a way." 

This method of fishing, as described by the boy, is often 
practiced. It is an outrage that nets are used in some of the 
trout streams. Hundreds of fish are frequently killed in a few 
hours by this unsportsman-like practice. In some counties (and 
it ought to be in all) it is a direct infringement of the law ; and 



128 



With Rod and Line. 



such practices should be exposed on every occasion, and pun- 
ished to the full extent of the statute. 

Whip-poor-wills whistled their 
shrillest that June night, and the 
air was ablaze with millions of fire- 
flies. A grand scene was revealed 
when the round, yellow moon 
came creeping up from behind the 
ragged ridge that walls the eastern 
bank of Cataluche. The pines 
along the summit of the ridge, 
stood out like black skeletons. A 
light, almost as bright as day, 
flooded the shut-in valley, casting 
dark shadows on the stony- ground 
under the giant forest trees, silver- 
ing their tall tops, and whitening 
the bare, mast-like pines, standing 
girdled in the fields of sprouting 
corn. The valley was resonant 
with the roar of the river. A re- 
freshing evening breeze swept the porch of the old farm-house, 
carrying with it a sleepy influence which knocked the props out 
from under the drowsy eye-lids of our party, and caused one 
after another to steal away to bed. 

The more enterprising and enthusiastic anglers were out and 
fishing before breakfast ; but after that meal we all went. We 
pursued every bend of the romantic stream, catching trout at 
every cast of our flies. One day in particular is to be remem- 
bered. A soft, warm shower had fallen, and then cleared 
brightly by 9 o'clock. The best of breezes, one from the 
south, was blowing through the hemlocks. The current of the 
stream was slightly riled ; thus everything being propitious for 




ON THE CATALUCHE. 



Trout Streams in Swain County. 1 29 

the sport. From one pool alone, ten gold and pink-spotted 
trout were taken that morning. It was a spot where a steep 
cliff, festooned with vines, lifted itself from the water on one 
side. On the other, was a wide curve of the bank, and along it 
grew azaleas and rhododendrons under the pines. The Rhine- 
wine colored waters lay dark in this picturesque basin ; and 
from them were lifted trout after trout, beguiled by the treach- 
erous fly. Between four and five hundred fish were brought in 
that evening. 

There are many other streams in the Great Smoky mountains 
about equal in excellence to Cataluche. Among these are the 
Ocona Lufta, Forney, Hazel and Eagle creeks in Swain county. 
Soco is a natural trout stream ; but, flowing as it does through 
the Cherokee reservation, its waters have been so whipped by 
the aboriginal fishermen that it can not be recommended to the 
angler. On its banks the angler, starting from Waynesville, 
will travel to reach the Ocona Lufta. ' The waters of the Ocona 
Lufta, even at its mouth in Tuckasege river, are of singular 
purity, and through some portions of its course, from racing 
over a moss-lined bed, appear clear emerald green. Above 
the Indian town the valley grows narrow, and prosperous 
farmers live along its banks. The forests are rich in cherry and 
walnut trees, and all necessary water power is afforded by the 
river. Joel Conner's is a pleasant place to stop. 

Forney creek empties into the Tuckasege at some distance 
below Charleston. The ride to its mouth will interest even the 
most practical of travelers. At times, the waters create a 
tumultuous uproar over a broken channel ; then with startling 
silence they run smooth and swift for a hundred yards, and, 
making a bold sweep around a craggy mountain, disappear as 
though the earth had swallowed them. There are several 
islands in the stream ; and at one place there is a twin pair 
lying close together in a channel wider than usual. Wild ducks 



130 With Rod and Line. 

m 

will often be seen keeping their unwavering flight around the 
bends ; and frequently from the water edge of a clump of 
alders, spice-wood and thunderberry bushes, a blue heron, with 
lank neck outstretched, will sail lazily out over the river. The 
mail man, mounted on a cadaverous horse, with leather mail- 
bags upon his saddle, is apt to meet the tourist ; but, differing 
from the general run of the natives, he travels on time and is 
loath to stop and talk. Not so with the man who, with a 
bushel of meal over his shoulders, is coming on foot from the 
nearest "corn-cracker." At your halt for a few points in 
regard to your route, he will answer to the best of his ability ; 
and then, if you feel so inclined, he will continue planted in the 
road and talk for an hour without once thinking of setting 
down his load. The fishing in Forney creek is excellent. It 
is in a rugged section, and at its mouth the scenery is wild 
enough to hold forth fine inducements. Hazel and Eagle 
creeks empty into the Little Tennessee in a still more lonely 
and less inhabited section, a number of miles below the mouth 
of the Tuckasege. 

The Nantihala river is prolific in trout near its pure sources ; 
and, along its lower reaches, is alive with other fish, among 
which the gamey black-bass is enough to allure the angler. A 
man may be an expert bass fisher, but a veritable failure at 
trouting. When one discovers this fact, with a sound pole, 
long line and reel, try the minnow and trolling-hook at the 
mouth of the Nantihala. In the Tuckasege his efforts may be 
rewarded with a salmon. A number of these royal fish were 
placed in this stream a few years since, and are now frequently 
landed. Nearly every creek that empties into the Tuckasege 
teems with trout. Among these are the north fork of Scott's 
creek, Dark Ridge creek, and Caney Fork, all in Jackson 
county. A gentleman of undoubted veracity, who has whipped 
nearly every stream in the mountains, pronounces the Dark 



Carolina s Grandest Cataract. 13 1 

Ridge creek to be the best of any he ever cast a fly in. Its 
head-waters can be struck by turning from the State road about 
seven miles from Waynesville, and pursuing a left-hand, unfre- 
quented road, into the wilderness. There are no farms along 
its banks. Great, silent forests, in which the locust and hickory 
attain enormous size, embosom it. Its edges are wild with 
tangled rhododendron and kalmia ; its waters, small in volume, 
but cold and crystal. 

Fourteen miles south of Webster, the county-seat of Jackson, 
is the most stupendous waterfall of the mountains. It is 
said that on certain evenings, when that dead quiet, prophetic 
of a storm, dwells in the valley, the dull roar of the falls can 
be heard eight miles down the river. It is on the Tuckasege, 
about 20 miles below its sources. There are three ways to 
reach it ; two from above, on either bank, and one from below, on 
the west bank. The one way by the east bank is exceedingly 
arduous. To approach it from the "west bank, the traveler jour- 
neys up the Cullowhe road from Webster. It is a delightful 
ride, over a picturesque highway, to where the river is struck at 
Watson's. By dismounting there, you can follow, without diffi- 
culty, on foot down stream to the desired point. This latter 
approach is preferable to the one undertaken by our party. We 
left the highway about three miles below Watson's. It is a 
rough walk of two miles to the waters, half a mile below the 
falls. There is no trail to follow, and it requires some activity 
to scale the rocks, jump the logs, and crawl through the thickets. 
Hard by the river, over a cliff 200 feet high, Rough-running 
brook pours its waters in rain and mist. If a certain guide's 
story is to be believed, over this cliff, three deer, closely fol- 
lowed by an eager pack of hounds, once plunged unwittingly. 

Along this part of the river the trout are thick and hungry 
enough to afford all the sport you wish ; and, if there is a dark 
sky and dark water, it will be a gala-day. The scenery of the 



132 With Rod and Line. 

falls is as interesting as the fishing. On the left rises a gray, 
granite cliff, perfectly plumb with its base, 150 feet above the 
river. It is somewhat mantled with green vines and mosses, 
and a few shaggy cedars cling to its front. On the right, the 
cliff is less precipitous, and on it the forest and its undergrowth 
springs dense and rank. In front pours the water, a great 
sparkling cloud. For 60 or 70 feet down, it is a perpendicular, 
unbroken sheet; then a projecting ledge catches and breaks it 
into two columns, to fall through the last 25 feet of space. The 
frowning cliffs, primeval pines, gigantic boulders, and the vista 
of blue sky sighted through the canon, form a picture of strik- 
ing sublimity. If you do not object to getting wet from the 
mist and rain created by the cataract, you can stand on a great 
rock in the whirling pool and fish for trout and salmon, with 
success, for hours. The cliff on the right can be scaled by a 
boy or man, and the river ascended for a mile to Watson's house 
on the road. However, before reaching the road, the upper 
falls are to be passed. Here the scene is different. For several 
hundred feet the waters pour over a bare mountain's face, whose 
slant is several degrees from a perpendicular. At its base the 
stream widens out, for there are no cliffs to hem it in, and huge 
boulders being absent, a level, little lake lies buried in the 
forests. A fine point from which to view this fall is half way 
up the mountain on the opposite side of the river. 

Fair fishing is still to be found in the Cullasaja. It can be 
reached from either Franklin or Highlands. In a beautiful val- 
ley, close by the bank of this stream, stands the homestead of 
a pioneer settler of the country, Silas McDowell. It is only a 
few years since he ended his pilgrimage. In his old age he 
took great delight in narrating his early experiences in the wil- 
derness. The first trout fishing expedition undertaken by him 
in 1839, and told by him to the writer, will serve as an illustra- 
tion of what the primitive angler had to encounter. 



A Pioneer 'Fronting Adventure. 133 

One bright morning, he, with two young companions, started 
up the Cullasaja. As a matter of course, they had excellent 
sport, and met with no adventure, until, in the ravines of Lamb 
mountain, a magnificent, antlered buck, startled by their 
sudden appearance, leaped up from behind a cliff and started 
up the stream. There was no outlet for him on either side, for 
the walls of the gorge are perpendicular. A short distance 
ahead, a cliff, over which the water tumbled, would stop his 
career. They had no guns with them, and, although the game 
was securely bagged, their only way to kill him was with stones. 
They pushed on pelting him with these. At length, maddened 
with the stoning, the old stag turned and rushed by them, 
breaking the narrator's fishing rod as he passed. Just then he 
fell between two large boulders, and one of the young men, 
springing on the animal's back, soon dispatched him with his 
knife. They sank the carcass in the cold, rushing water ; fished 
until noon, catching several hundred trout, and then returned 
home to send two servants with a pack-horse after the game. 
The return of the servants was expected that evening, but it 
was not until the following afternoon that they appeared. They 
related that they had found the deer, but it was dark before 
they were ready to start. Thinking it was best to wait for the 
moon to rise, they placed the deer on a large, fiat rock in mid 
stream, and then laid down beside it to sleep until that time. 
An unusual sound awoke them, and by the moonlight they saw 
an immense panther crossing the foot-log toward them. He 
had scented the fresh meat, and was about to investigate, but 
on the unexpected awakening of two human beings, he fled, as 
much startled as they were. The night was intensely cold, and 
finding it impossible to start, and also being afraid of wild ani- 
mals along the lonely way, they remained on the rock until the 
sun had risen and warmed their numbed bodies. Thus they 
accounted for their long absence. 



1 34 With Rod and Line. 

A few miles irom Brevard, the headwaters of the French 
Broad, and farther south, on the Jackson county side, the streams 
hidden in the wilderness of the Hog-back and emptying into 
the Toxaway, and the head-waters of the Chatooga, can be rec- 
ommended to the followers of Isaak Walton. The writer does 
not know from actual experience of any trout inhabiting the 
Linville waters, but there are sign-boards on the banks prohibit- 
ing fishing. 

Close on the Mitchell and Watauga county boundary, is the 
Elk river, a famous trout stream. The best approach is from 
Tennessee, up the narrow-gauge railroad, through Carter 
county, to the Cranberry mines. From the old forge to Louis 
Banner's, or Dugger's, the distance is eight miles. The road 
winds upward along a clear, dark stream, rushing over light- 
colored rocks. Steep mountain sides, heavy with wild, brilliant 
forests, darken the highway with their shadows. In the morn- 
ing and evening, the woods are filled with melodious birds. 
Logging camps are numerous in this neighborhood, the soli- 
tudes resounding with the crash of falling timbers and the songs, 
or more likely the oaths, of the lumbermen. Besides catching 
trout in the Elk, there is a good chance for killing deer along 
its margin, or in some of the vast hemlock forests in which the 
high valleys of the southwest corner of Watauga are embos- 
omed. In Ashe county, the tributary creeks to the North fork 
of New river rise amid picturesque mountains, and teem with 
trout. 



AFTER THE ANTLERS. 



Rise ! Sleep no more ! 'Tis a noble morn; 
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, 
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound, 
Under the steaming, steaming ground. 
Behold where the billowy clouds flow by, 
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky! 
Our horses are ready and steady. — So, ho! 
I'm gone, like the dart from the Tartar's bow. 
Hark! Hark! Who calleth the maiden Morit 
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn? 

The horn, — the horn! 
The merry sweet ring of the hunter s horn. 

— Barry Cornwall. 

The Smoky chain, whose summit bears 
the long boundary line of North Carolina 
and Tennessee, attains its culmination be- 
tween the deep, picturesque gaps of the 
French Broad and Little Tennessee, and is 
known as the Great Smoky mountains. 
For the distance of sixty-five miles it 
forms a mighty barrier, affording, with the 
exception of the Big Pigeon, no passage-way for mountain 
waters, and broken, except toward its southern end, by no gaps 
less than 5,000 feet in altitude. Nineteen peaks of over 6,000 
feet in altitude, and 14 more within 400 feet of these figures, 
connected by massive ridges and interspersed by peaks but 

137 




138 After the Antlers. 

little lower than those just mentioned, make a marked cluster 
of massive mountains. 

Clingman's dome, 6,660 feet high, the most elevated summit 
in the range, is 372 feet higher than Mount Washington of 
the White Mountains, and only 47 feet lower than the loftiest 
peak of the Appalachian system. From its dome-shaped sum- 
mit, in close communion with the clouds, and encircled by a 
dense grove of balsams, high above the line of scrubby oak and 
beech, and higher still above the majestic forests of cherry, 
locust, chestnut and the walnut, which clothe its lower slopes, 
the observer, as from the basket of a balloon, looks down upon 
a varied world spread wide and rolling beneath his feet. To 
the north lies that level and fertile portion of East Tennessee, 
watered by the French Broad and the Holston. Villages dot 
the plains ; and, afar, the crests of the Cumberland mountains 
and their spurs form with the transparent sky a purple horizon. 
On the other hand, the lofty heights of the Bald, Black, Blue 
Ridge, Balsam, Cowee and Nantihala ranges, with lapping ends 
and straggling summits, make a distant, circling, boundary 
line to a central ocean of rolling mountains. Directly south, 
one obtains a wide-spread prospect of the most wild and pictur- 
esque portion of the eastern United States — that land embraced 
by the counties of Swain and Macon — the once romantic habita- 
tion and hunting ground of the Cherokee Nation. Here lies 
the fertile valley of the upper Little Tennessee, and its pictur- 
esque but almost uninhabited lower reaches ; the emerald green 
Ocona Lufta with its rich lands ; the Indian reservation on the 
banks of the Soco ; the beautiful Tuckasege, and the narrow 
and wildly romantic vale down which courses the Nantihala. 

A noticeable feature of these mountains is their smooth, bald 
summits ; not a sterile baldness like that of ranges higher or in 
more rigorous climates, but only bald as far as concerns the 
growth of trees and underwood. Atmospheric forces have 



The Heart of the Smokies. 139 

played their parts on the pinnacles. What once must nave been 
sharp crowns of rock, have, with time, storm, and frost, become 
rounded hillocks. Due, perhaps to the sweeping winds, the 
dense balsam forests — the characteristic tree of the loftier 
heights of the Smoky, Black, Balsam and Blue Ridge — stop 
around the brows of the extreme tops, leaving, oftentimes, per- 
fectly level tracts of treeless land, in some instances of 1,000 
acres in extent. The soil is a black loam. A heavy sward, 
green, even in winter, covers these meadows. On them, around 
occasionally exposed surfaces of rock, the scarlet, blossom-bear- 
ing rhododendron, and clumps of heather, similar to that on the 
Scottish hills, are found. Every spring, thousands of cattle, 
branded, and sometimes hung with bells, are turned out on 
these upland pastures. It is an unequalled grazing land. 
Water wells forth even from the extreme higher edges of the 
forests, and on every slope are crystal streams. 

The same striking difference, between the slopes of the Blue 
Ridge, is seen in the Great Smoky mountains. On the Ten- 
nessee side, the soil is sterile, in comparison with the North 
Carolina side. Bare, rocky faces are exposed to a stronger 
sun-light ; the streams flow through slaty channels, heaped with 
gigantic boulders, and -a sultry air pervades at the mountains' 
base ; still/flourishing forests cover the winding hollows, seclud- 
ed coves, and even the craggy heights. One notable mountain 
cluster, the Chimneys, terminate in sharp, thin spurs of rock, 
differing in this particular from all the peaks of the Alleghanies 
south. 

The North Carolina side is a luxuriant wilderness, where, not 
content with spreading overhead an unbroken roof of branches, 
brilliant with a foliage like that of tropical forests, Nature has 
carpeted the ground with mosses and grasses, and planted in 
vast tracts impenetrable tangles of the rhododendron and 
kalmia.- These tangles are locally called " Hells," with a 



140 After the Antlers. 

proper noun possessive in remembrance of poor unfortunates 
lost in their mazes. There is no better timbered country in the 
United States. The wild cherry, of large growth, is found here 
in abundance, and other hard woods of a temperate clime at- 
tain majestic heights. The arrowy balsam shoots up to 150 
feet, and the mast-like cucumber tree dangles it red fruit high 
above the common forest top. 

The valleys are cleared and filled with the pleasant homes of 
hardy mountaineers. These farms, to the careless observer, ap- 
pear to be the only marks of civilized life on the Smokies ; but 
high above the main traveled roads, amid vast forest solitudes, 
beside small mountain streams, and in rich coves under shelter- 
ing ridges, are located many quiet cabins with no approach ex- 
cept by trail ways and known only to the tax-collector and 
cattle-herder. 

Some of these trails, or poorly-worked roads lead the un- 
suspecting tourist into thickly-settled localities. Such a surprise 
awaits him if, at the canon of the Cataluche, he leaves the 
highway leading from Haywood county to Knoxville. It is the 
most picturesque valley of the Great Smoky range. The 
mountains are timbered, but precipitous ; the narrow, level lands 
between are fertile ; farm houses look upon a rambling road, 
and a creek, noted as a prolific trout stream, runs a devious 
course through hemlock forests, around romantic cliffs, and be- 
tween laureled banks. 

But, to the observer from Clingman's Dome, the clearings on 
the slopes of the Smokies are hidden from the eye. On all 
sides stretch wild, black forests, funereal in their aspect, wakened 
only by the cry of the raven, or the tinkle of the bell of some 
animal lost in their labyrinths. The great wildernesses of the 
deciduous trees lie below, mantling the ridges and hollows. In 
vain the eye endeavorsto mark their limit : it is blanked by the 
misty purple into which the green resolves itself. Here j for the 



Mounted Sportsmen. 141 

bear, deer, wolf, and panther, appears the natural home. No- 
where is there a more perfect roaming ground for these ani- 
mals ; but the hound, rifle, and trap, brought into active use 
by the Indians and mountaineers, have greatly thinned out the 
game ; still, no better hunting is to be found east of the 
Mississippi. 

Swain county, along the Graham county line, appeared the 
least inhabited section ; and when, in the early part of October, 
we contemplated a deer drive, the above information regarding 
the skirts of the Great Smokies tended to drift us down the Lit- 
tle Tennessee. Our approach lay from that point in Haywood 
county which was then the terminus of the Western North 
Carolina Railroad, via Waynesville, Webster, and Charleston. 
We were mounted on stout horses, and were dressed in a man- 
ner anything but conspicuous ; still, a party of four men, each 
with a Remington rifle or a breech-loading shot-gun, strapped 
for easy carrying across his back, forms a cavalcade of striking 
interest to denizens of mountain ways and the citizens of quiet 
villages. 

Had we paid any attention to the opinion that, in the wilder- 
ness, we would be taken for revenue officers, and, as such, shot 
on sight by blockaders, we would have ridden uneasily. There 
is bravery in numbers, and then we knew better than to give 
countenance to such fears. Blockading, or "moonshining" as it is 
sometimes called, because the distiller works by the light of the 
moon, is not as prevalent in these mountains as is generally 
supposed ; and, besides, it is growing less with every year. 
That an unobstrusive stranger stands in danger of being shot 
down by a blockader on suspicion of any kind, is a bug bear, in 
spite of its prevalence, almost too absurd for consideration. 
For the commission of a crime of this nature, it would take a 
strange combination of circumstances : a distiller with a murder- 
ous cast of mind ; a tourist representing himself to be a United 



1 42 After the A nilers. 

States officer, and the presence of an illicit still. Now, the 
blockader, like the majority of drinking men, is a good-natured 
fellow, who, while he deems himself a citizen of the United 
States, confounds natural with civil liberty, and believes he has 
the right to manufacture, drink and sell whisky in whatever 
manner he pleases so long as he does not interfere with the 
private rights of his neighbors. The tourist is generally a volu- 
ble fellow, anxious to make friends as he travels, and showing 
stronger inclination to have his bottle filled than to burst copper 
boilers or smash any barrels of mash. The still is hidden in 
retreats where a stranger would be as likely to stumble upon it 
as he would to finding the philosopher's stone. 

The tourist, traveling the lonely mountain highways, need 
have no fears as to the safety of* his person or his pocket. It 
is true that murder cases are often on the county dockets, • but 
these are the results of heated blood, and not of cupidity. 
Honesty is a strong trait of the mountain people. 

Charleston, the county-seat of Swain, — a pleasant little vil- 
lage, whose existence dates only from the formation of the 
county in 1871, — is situated by the Tuckasege river, and at the 
foot of Rich mountain. It is in the midst of a new country. 
The two most conspicuous buildings, standing directly opposite 
each other at one end of the village street, are the new and old 
court-houses. The former is a substantial brick structure, 
likened by a wag, who draws his comparisons from homely ob- 
servations, to the giant hopper of a mill, turned upside down. 
The old, frame court-house has its upper story used as a grand 
jury room, and its lower floor, as formerly, holds the jail. The 
dark interior of the "cage," used for petty misdoers, can be 
seen under the front outside stairs, through a door with barred 
window. An apartment fitted up for the jailer is on the same 
floor, and, by a spiked, open slit, about six inches by two feet 
in dimensions, is connected with the "dungeon." For its pe- 



The Charleston Dungeon. 143 

culiar purposes this dungeon is built on a most approved pattern. 
It is a log room within a log room, the space between the log 
walls being filled up with rocks. It is wholly inside the frame 
building. Besides the opening where the jailer may occa- 
sionally peek in, is another one, similar to that described, where 
a few pale rays of daylight or moonlight, as the case may be, 
can, by struggling, filter through clapboards, two log walls, 
spikes, and rocks, to the gloomy interior. A pad-locked trap- 
door in the floor above is the only entrance. The daily rations 
for ye solitary culprit, like all our blessings, come from above 
— through the trap-door. Here, suspected unfortunates of a 
desperate stripe awaiting trial, and convicted criminals, biding 
their day of departure for the penitentiary or gallows, are con- 
fined in dismal twilight, and in turn are raised by a summons 
from above, and a ladder cautiously lowered through the open- 
ing in the floor. This invitation to clamber is always responded 
to with alacrity by the occupant below. As Swain county is 
particularly fortunate in having few crimes committed within its 
borders which call for capital or very vindictory and exemplary 
punishment, the dungeon is seldom put in use. 

Along the main thoroughfare, and on the few side streets, 
are neat white dwellings ; well-stocked stores, where a man can 
buy anything from a needle to an axe; and two good village 
hotels. Like all communities, the}/ have churches here, and 
possibly (for the writer does not speak on this point from ob- 
servation) on some grassy knoll, under the silence and shadows 
of noble forest monarchs, may be found a few head-marked 
graves forming the village cemetery. 

The post-office is a good place, at the arrival of the mail- 
horse, to survey and count the male population of Charleston ; 
or, after papers and letters are distributed, to meet, in the 
person of Postmaster Collins, an intelligent- man who will 
vouchsafe all information desired on matters of local and county 



144 After the Antlers. 

interest. In the middle of the day, you can sit on the counter 
in any of the stores and discuss politics or religion with the 
merchant, who, in his shirtsleeves, and perched on a pile of 
muslins and calicoes with his feet on a coal-oil barrel, smokes a 
pipe of home-cured tobacco, and keeps his eyes alternately on 
the ceiling and the road, as though expectant along the latter 
for the white or Indian customer. 

Here we heard how a few years since a deer was hounded 
into the river, and then in deep water was easily lassoed by a 
native, towed to shore, and, rendered docile through fright, was 
, led like a lamb through the village street. This story height- 
ened our ardor to be on the hunt; so, leaving the village 
early on a foggy morning, we that day accomplished thirty- 
five miles of travel and arrived at our destined quarters on the 
height of the Smoky mountains. 

The character of a river can not be known by a single view 
of its waters. One must follow it for miles to know its peculi- 
arities, and wherein its picturesqueness differs from other 
streams. The mountain rivers are admirably suited for investi- 
gations of this nature. The levelest and oftentimes the only 
accessible way for a road is close along the streams. The Lit- 
tle Tennessee is, through many of its stretches, looked down 
upon from winding highways ; but it is not until the traveler 
leaves Charleston and strikes the banks some few miles below, 
that the grandeur of its scenery is manifest. Here begins the 
close companionship between river and road, that is not broken 
until by the impetuous waters the heart of the Smoky moun- 
tains is cut asunder. 

The scenery is similar to the French Broad, but the scale is 
considerably enlarged. There is a greater volume of water, 
and a wider reach between the banks ; the mountains, whose 
wood-adorned fronts rise from the sounding edge of the cur- 
rent, are loftier in height, and in some places, like that before 



An Evening Scene. 



145 



the farm house of Albert Welsh, present a distinctive feature 
in their steep, rocky faces. In the vicinity of the mouth of the 
Tuckasege, some charming pictures are to be found. Take it at 
the hour preceding an October sunset, when the shadows thrown 
by wall and forest lie dark and heavy on the slopes and levels ; 
when the sunlight is strong, and an evening serenity pervades 
the scene: the steep mountains flame with the gorgeous col- 
oring of autumn, mingled with the changeless green of the 
pines ; crimson vines gleam in the sunlight smiting the cliffs 
which they festoon ; and, in shadow, at the feet of the moun- 
tains, " like some grave, mighty thought threading a dream," 
glides the silent river. 

Occasionally, the stream makes a long, 
straight sweep; then again, abrupt bends 
throw it in zigzag course. A few flocks of 
teal and wood ducks, apparently even 
wilder than when in marsh-water, rose oc- 
casionally from placid faces of the river. 
They were out of gun-shot at the start, 
and before settling, never failed to put the 
next lower bend between them and their 
disturbers. The mountains so encroach on 
the river that little arable land is afforded ; 
houses are consequently far apart, in some 
places five miles of road being devoid of a 
clearing. 

Eagle creek rises in Ecanetle gap. A 
narrow trail winds on the wild banks along 
its waters. At its mouth we turned from 
the Little Tennessee, and for ten miles pur- 
sued this trail without passing a house. 
The forest was lifeless and unbroken 
throughout. Twilight came as we traveled, 




ON THE LITTLE TENNESEE 



146 After the Antlers . 

and just after it became dark enough to see a phosphorescent 
log that glowed, like a bed of burning lime, across our path, 
through the laurel appeared a vista of cleared land embosomed 
in a dark forest. The starlight revealed it. In the center 
stood a double log house, with a mud-daubed stone chimney at 
each low gable, above which flying sparks made visible a col- 
umn of smoke. The two doors were open, and through these 
streamed the lights from the fire-places. No. windows marred 
the structure ; but chinks, through which one might easily stick 
his rifle to blaze away at a wild turkey in the corn field, or at a 
revenue officer beyond the fence, made the exterior of the hut 
radiant with their filtration of light. Several low outbuildings 
were in the enclosure. 

As Sanford's horse struck against an intact row of bars which 
closed the trail, the savage yelping of a body of unseen dogs 
startled the quiet of the scene. In an instant a bare-headed 
woman, with a pan in her hand, appeared at one door, and at 
the other a bushy-headed man leaned outward. 

"How are you?" yelled Sanford. "Do Jake and Quil Rose 
live here?" 

"Shet up, ye hounds, ye!" addressing his dogs; then to 
us, "I reckon they do. Who be you uns ? " 

By that time both doors were crowded with young and old 
heads, and two men came toward us. After a parley, in which 
we explained who we were, and the object of our visit, the bars 
rattled down, our horses stepped after each other into the clear- 
ing, and in succession we grasped the hands of the Rose 
brothers. 

" Ef yer hunters," said one, "we're only too glad to see 
ye ; but at fust we didn't know whether ye war gentlemen or a 
sheriffs posse, the road-boss or revenue galoots. Now lite, go 
to the house, and take cheers while we stable the nags." 

As directed, we entered one of the two rooms of the cabin, 



Interior of a Log Cabin. 147 

leaving behind us the night, the quieted dogs and the October 
chill' that comes with the darkness. A hot log fire, leaping in 
the chimney place, around which were ranged four children and 
a woman preparing supper, threw on the walls the fantastic 
shadows of the group, and enabled us to mark every object of 
the interior. On the scoured puncheon floor furtherest from 
the chimney, were three rough bed-steads, high with feather 
ticks and torn blankets. Against the walls above the bed- 
steads were long lines of dresses, petticoats and other clothing. 
No framed pictures adorned the smoky logs, but plastered all 
over the end where rose the chimney, was an assortment of 
startling illustrations cut from Harper's Weeklies, Police Gazet- 
tes, and almanacs, of dates (if judged by their yellowness) 
before the war. A few cooking implements hung against the 
chimney. Over half the room reached a loft, where one might 
imagine was stored the copper boiler and other apparatus of a 
still, slowly corroding through that season immediately preced- 
ing the hardening and gathering in of the corn. A table, with 
clean spread on it, and set with sweet potatoes, corn-dodger, 
butter and coffee, stood in the center of the room. At this 
board, on the invitation of the brother known as Quil, we seated 
ourselves to a repast, rude to be sure, but made delicious to us 
from a long day's travel. The wife of the mountaineer, as if 
out of respect to her visitors, and following a singular custom, 
had donned her bonnet on sight of us ; and, keeping it on her 
head, poured out the coffee in silence, and, although seated, 
partook of no food until we had finished. 

In the lines preceding these, and in those which immediately 
follow, the writer has attempted to present to the reader a true 
picture of an extreme type of mountain life, — that of a class 
of people, hidden in mountain fastnesses, who, uneducated and 
unambitious, depend for scanty subsistence upon the crops of 
cramped clearings and the profits of the chase. Their state of 



148 After the Antlers. 

perfect contentment is not the singular, but natural result of 
such an uncheckered existence. 

The Rose brothers, are known as men good-natured, but of 
desperate character when aroused. They have been blockaders. 
Living outside of school districts, and seemingly of all State 
protection, they refuse to pay any taxes ; having only a trail- 
way to their door, they pay no attention to notices for working 
the county roads. Thus recognizing no authority, they live in 
a pure state of natural liberty, depending for its continuance 
upon their own strength and daring, the fears of county officers, 
the seclusion of their home, and their proximity to the Tennes- 
see line. Only one and a half mile of mountain ascent is re- 
quired to place them beyond the pursuit of State authorities. 
One of them once killed his man, in Swain county, and to this 
day he has escaped trial. They are men of fine features and 
physique. Both wear full, dark beards; long, black hair ; slouch 
hats ; blue hunting shirts, uncovered by coats or vests, and 
belted with a strap holding their pantaloons in place. High 
boots, with exposed tops, cover their feet and lower limbs. They 
are tall and broad-shouldered. Thus featured, figured, and ac- 
coutered, they appeared to our party. 

All the children had been covered with feather beds, when 
we six men and two women formed a wide circle before the fire 
that evening. Naturally, our conversation was on hunting, and 
Kenswick opened the ball by inquiring about the state of deer 
hunting. 

"We allers spring a deer when we drive," responded Jake. 

"Do you never fail?" 

"Never; but sometimes we miss killin' 'im." 

"They must be thick around here," remarked Sanford. 

"Not so powerful. Why, just a few ye'r ago, Brit May- 
ner killed nine in one day. He couldn't do hit now." 

"Why?" 



A Wolf Story. 149 

Gittin' scurce ; every man on the Smokies owns dogs, an' 
they're bein' hounded to death." 

" How about bears? " asked Kenswick. 

"Gittin' scurce, too. We generally kill eight or ten now in 
the season agin twenty a short time back." 

"When is the best season for bear," began Kenswick, but 
Sanford, who had stepped to the door, interrupted him. 

"Oh," said he, "let information about bears rest until we 
hunt for them, and let me ask if that is a wolf I hear howling. 
Listen ! " 

" By George ! " exclaimed Kenswick, "it does sound rather 
wolfish." 

" Hit's one, shore enough," returned Quil. "We hear 'em 
every winter night from the door." , 

"They must do damage to your sheep." 

"Reckon they do; but not much worser 'en dogs." 

"How do you destroy them?" 

"Trap 'em, an' shoot 'em." 

"Will they fight a pack of hounds well ?" 

" Prime fighters, you bet! But, dog my skin, I got the holt 
on one the other day that he did n't shake off!" 

" Hold of one! How was that ? " two of us asked together. 

Jake threw a rich pine knot on the fire ; Kenswick ceased 
puffing his pipe for an instant ; Sanford came from the door, and, 
leaning against the chimney, stuck one of his feet toward the 
blaze ; Mrs. Jake Rose with her sister-in-law exchanged com- 
pliments in the shape of a tin snuff box, in which the latter 
dipped a chewed birch stick and then rubbed her teeth ; and 
Quil began : 

' ' This day war four weeks ago when I went down on Forney 
creek to see Boodly about swoppin' our brindled cow-brute fer 
his shoats, want hit?" nodding to his wife. 

She nodded. 



150 After the Antlers . 

"Wal, I hed my rifle-gun an' the dogs fer company, countin' 
on gittin a crack at some varmint along the way. On Bear 
creek, the dogs trottin' by my side got ter snuffin' in the rocks 
an' weeds, an' all o' a sudden, barking like mad, broke hell- 
bent through the laurel and stopped right squar' at the branch. 
Thar was cliffs thar, and the water, arter slidin' down shelvin' 
rocks fer a piece, poured over a steep pitch. I clumpt hit up 
an' down the bank, lookin' sharp fer deer-signs, but seed 
nuthin. Then thinks me ter myself, I'll cross the stream, an' 
call the dogs over. The nighest way to cross war across the 
shelvin' rock above the fall. I waded in thar. Do ye know, 
the blamed thing was so slick and slimy that my feet slipped, 
an' I cum down ker splash in the waters. I tried to clutch the 
rocks, but could n't, an' as quick as ye can bat yer eyes, over 
the short fall I went, strikin' bottom on sumthin' soft an' ha'ry." 

"A wolf?" some one asked. 

"Yes, dog my skin! Hit was the dry nest of a master 
old varmint under thet fall. He war as fat as a bar jist shufflin' 
out o' 'Winter quarters, an' he only hed three legs. One gone 
at the knee. Chawed hit off, I reckon, to get shet o' a trap." 

"What, will they eat off the leg that is fastened to free them- 
selves from a trap ? " asked Kenswick, excitedly. 

"In course they will, an' so'll a bar," continued Quil. " But 
I didn't find this all out until arterwards. Thar I war astraddle 
o' thet varmint's back, an' my fingers in the ha'r o' bis neck." 

"That's a pretty stiff story, Quil," remarked Sanford. 

"Stiff or not, hits the truth, so help me Gineral Jackson!" 

" Go on, go on ! " 

"Wal, the wolf snarled and struggled like mad, but I hed 
the holt on 'im. I didn't dar' to loose my holt ter git my 
knife, so I bent 'im down with my weight, and, gittin' his head 
in the water, I drowned 'im in a few minutes. Then I toted 
and drugged 'im out to the dogs." 



Like a Jack-in-the-Box. 151 

"Was it an old sheep-killer?" I asked. 

"Thet's jist what he war. He hed been livin' nigh the set- 
tlement fer months, till he war too fat ter fight well." 

Quil's story was a true one, with the exception that in the 
narration he had taken the place of the actual hunter. After it 
was finished, conversation lagged, and hanging our coats for 
screens over the backs of chairs, we jumped upon and sank 
from sight into the feather beds. 

Early the following morning, some little time before daylight 
had sifted through the chinks of the cabin, when all out-doors 
was wrapped in the gloom of night, and but one premature 
cock-crow had sounded in my ears, I heard the feet of the occu- 
pant of an adjoining bed strike flat on the floor, followed by the 
noise of thrusting of legs into pantaloons. Then there was a 
noise at the chimney-place, and soon a fire was in full blaze, 
crackling and snapping in a spiteful way, as it warmed and filled 
the room with its glow. As soon as this light became strong 
enough, and I was sufficiently aroused to distinguish objects 
about me, I saw that Quil Rose was up and stirring ; and, a 
minute after, I perceived the white, night-capped head of the 
lady of the house shoot, like a jack-in-the-box, up above the 
bed-clothes. I thought of Pickwick and the lady in curl-papers, 
so I laid quiet. It is curious in what a short space of time a 
mountain woman will make her toilet ; for that covered head 
had not appeared above the bed more than one minute before 
Mrs. Rose was in morning dress complete, even to her shoes ; 
and quietly rolling up her sleeves, was making active prepara- 
tions for an early breakfast. 

Corn-meal, water, and salt were soon stirred up for the dodger ; 
the small, round skillet with cover (Dutch oven they call it) was 
set over a bed of coals ; the tea-kettle was singing on the fire, 
and some chunks of venison boiling in the pot. 

While Mrs. Rose was thus engaged, one by one we began 



152 After the Antlers. 

crawling out, but not before Quil had come to my bed, stooped 
down at the head, thrust his hand under, and lo ! by the light 
of the snapping logs, we saw him draw forth a gallon jug with- 
out a handle. 

" I reckon we'll have a dram afore breakfast," said he, with a 
jolly twinkle in his eye, and smack of his lips, as he poured out 
a glass of liquor as clear as crystal, and handed it around. 

" Hit costs us jist one dollar a gallon, an' I'll 'low hit's as 
pure as mounting dew," remarked the head of the family, as 
he drained off a four-finger drink. 

By the time we were dressed, breakfast was ready, and we 
moved around the neatly-spread table. Coffee and buttermilk 
were poured ; the corn dodger was broken by our fingers, and 
these, together with stewed-apples and venison made up our 
morning's repast. 

"The sooner we're off now, the better," said Quil, as he took 
down his rifle from the buck-prongs fastened in the cabin wall, 
and drew his bullet-pouch and powder-horn over his head 
and arm. 

We stepped from the cabin's door into the gray light of the 
morning. The peaks of the Smoky, through which winds 
Ecanetle gap, were black in shade, while the jagged rim of 
mountains, toward the east, was tipped with fire, and above 
was an azure sky without a speck of cloud upon its face. Be- 
low us, as seen from the edge of the rail fence, looking far down 
across red and yellow forests, the fogs of the lower valleys, ly= 
ing along the stream, appeared like great rivers of molten silver. 
This effect was caused by the sunlight streaming through the 
gaps of the mountains, upon the dense masses of vapor. The 
glory was beyond description. 

The kindled Morn, on joyous breezes borne, 
Breathed balmy incense on the mountains torn 

And tumbled; dreamy valleys rolled 

In Autumn's glowing garments far 



The Footprints of Autumn. 1 53 

Below; and cascades thundered 
Sparkling down the cedared cliff's bold 
Faces: peaks perpendicular 
Shot up with summits widely sundered. 

The best time to visit this country is in October. The tourist 
who, after several months' sojourn among the mountains, leaves 
for his lowland home, loses, by only a few weeks, the most 
pleasant season of the year. In this month is fully realized the 
truth of Shelley's words : . 

' ' There is a harmony 
In autumn and a lustre in its sky, 
Which through the summer is not heard nor seen, 
As if it could not be, as if it had not been ! " 

The skies are intensely blue, seldom streaked with clouds, 
and the rain-fall is the least of the year. The atmosphere is free 
from the haze, that through a great part of the summer pervad- 
ing the air, renders the view less extended. In it one can dis- 
tinguish tree-top from tree-top on. the heights thousands of feet 
above him ; and the most distant mountains are brought out in 
bold relief against the sky. The days are mild and temperate. 

Then it is that Autumn begins to tint the woodlands. Strange 
to say, although the forests on the summits are the last to bud 
and leaf in the spring, their foliage is the first scattered under- 
foot. Along the extreme heights on the northern slopes, the 
foot-prints of Autumn are first perceived. This is not because 
of stronger sunlight or deeper shade, but is due to the difference 
of forest growth between the north and south sides of the 
ranges. She earliest changes to a dull russet and bright yel* 
low the upland groves of buckeye and linn, above whose margin 
the balsams remain darker and gloomier by the contrast ; and 
touches into scarlet flame the foliage of the sugar-maple scat- 
tered widely apart amid the the sturdier trees. 

As the days go by, in the valleys the buckeye drops its 
leaves ; the black-gum, festooned by the old gold leaves of the 
wild grape, gleams crimson against the still green poplars; the 



154 After the Antlers. 

hickory turns to a brilliant yellow amid the red of the oaks; of 
a richer red appears the sour-wood ; the slender box elder, with 
yellow leaves and pods, shivers above the streams; the chest- 
nut burrs begin to open and drop their nuts ; acorns are rattling- 
down through the oak leaves, while on the hill-sides from the 
top of his favorite log, the drum of the pheasant resounds, as 
though a warning tattoo of coming frosts. 

On the farms the scene is all animation. Although some 
corn-fields have already been stripped of their blades, leaving 
the bare stalks standing with their single ears, others are just 
ripe for work, and amid their golden banners, are the laborers, 
pulling and bundling the fodder. Stubble fields are being 
turned under and sown with grain for next year's wheat. The 
orchards are burdened with rosy fruit ; and at the farm-houses, 
the women are busy paring apples, and spreading them on board 
stages for drying in the sun. 

At this time the cattle, turned out in the spring to pasture 
on the bald mountains, are in splendid condition, and no more 
tender and juicy steaks ever graced a table than those cut from 
the hind quarters of one of these steers. The sheep, just 
clipped of their wool (they shear sheep twice a year in these 
mountains) afford the finest mutton in the world. But let us 
return to the hunt. 

There was a sharp tingle of frost in the atmosphere. Our 
breath made itself visible in the clear air, and even Kenswick's 
naturally pale face grew rubicund. 

"I'll swear," said he, blowing upon his fingers, "this is 
colder than I bargained for. A man must keep moving to keep 
warm. No stand for me this morning. I'm going in the drive. 
Why, I'd freeze to sit still for even half an hour waiting for a 
deer." 

"Hit's powerful keen, I'll 'low," returned Quil, "but hit '11 
be warmer directly the sun done gits up. You cudn't stand 



A Pack of Mongrel Curs. 155 

the drive no how, an' yer chances wud be slim fer a shot Ef 
ye want to keep yer breath, and the starch in yer biled shirt, 
ye'd better mind a stan'. Yeh! Ring; Yeh! Snap; Hi! 
boys." 

At the latter calls, three hounds came leaping around the 
corner of the cabin, joining the four which were already at our 
heels. It was a mongrel collection of half starved curs. Two 
of them, however, were full blooded deer dogs. Their keen 
noses, clear eyes, shapely heads, and lithe limbs, put us in high 
hopes of the successful result of the day's hunt. By tying 
ropes around the necks of the two old deer dogs, Quil carried 
into execution his proposition to "yoke up" the leaders ; and, 
forthwith, explained that, at the instant of springing the first 
deer, he would loosen one hound, whom three of the other dogs 
would follow. The next plain scent he would reserve for the 
remaining leader and two followers. 

Some of the old hunters of the Smokies have reduced doer 
training to a fine art. They keep from three to eight hounds, 
who in a drive, hold themselves strictly to their master's 
orders. None of them need to be "yoked," or leashed, and 
simply at his word, when a scent is sprung, one hound so 
ordered will leave the pack and follow alone, and so on, giving 
each hound a separate trail. This plan of training the hounds 
does not prevail to as great an extent as it did a few years since 
when the game was more plenty. 

Brushing through the wet weeds and rusty, standing stalks of 
blade-stripped corn, we climbed a rail fence and entered a faint 
trail along the laureled bank of a trout stream. This stream 
we crossed by leaping from rock to rock, while the hounds 
splashed through the cold waters. The forest Ave were in was 
gorgeous under the wizard influence of autumn ; chestnut and 
beech burrs lay thick under foot, and the acorn mast was being 



1 56 After the Antlers. 

fed upon by droves of fierce-looking, bristled hogs, running at 
large on the mountain. 

The long blast of a horn, and a loud barking, arrested our 
attention, and soon after we were joined by a short, thick-set 
young man, whom Ouil introduced as Ben Lester. He was 
the picture of a back-woods hunter. The rent in his homespun 
coat strapped around his waist, looked as though done by the 
claws of a black bear. His legs were short, and just sinewy 
enough to carry him up and down ridges for 40 miles per day. 
A good-natured, honest, and determined face, bristling with a 
brown moustache, and stubble beard, of a week's growth, sur- 
mounted his broad shoulders. His hands were locked over the 
stock of a rifle as long as himself. The ram's horn, that sig- 
naled us of his presence, hung at his side, and three well-fed, 
long-eared hounds, were standing close by him ; one between 
his legs. 

The plan for the hunt was as follows : Lester and the Rose 
brothers were to do the driving, taking in a wild section, lying 
far above and north of the Little Tennessee ; we four city boys 
were to occupy drive-ways, and watch for, halt, and slay every 
deer that passed. Lester volunteered to show me to my pro- 
posed stand. He proved himself to be an intelligent and edu- 
cated fellow, but of taciturn disposition. I succeeded in start- 
ing him, however, and it was this way he talked : 

"November is the prime time for hunting deer, but this 
month is very good. You see, the deer, owing to the thinness 
of hair, are red in the summer. As the weather gets cooler, 
their hair grows longer, and their color gets blue. If you shoot 
a deer in the deep water before the middle of October, he's 
liable to sink, and you lose him." 

"Why is that?" 

" His hair is what buoys him up. He'd sink like a stone, in 
the summer or early fall." 



A Hunters Observations. i$? 

"Where are the most deer killed?" 

"On the river. Sometimes they steer straight for the water. 
If the day is hot, they're sure to get there in a short time. On 
cool days, they'll sometimes race the hounds from morning till 
night ; and then, as a last hope, with the pack on their heels, 
they'll break for the river. 

"Do the hounds follow by the ground scent ?" 

"No. The best hounds leap along snuffing at the bushes 
that the deer has brushed against." 

"When, where, and on what do they feed?" 

"Here, I know, where the deer have become timid on 
account of so much driving, they doze in the day-time, and 
feed at night. The heavy woods along the upper streams 
afford excellent coverts for their day dreams. In summer pick- 
ing is plenty ; in winter they brouse on the scanty grass, the 
diminished mast, and the green but poisonous ivy." 

" Poisonous ivy?" 

"Yes. It is singular, but it has no effect on them. It will 
kill everything else. Why, one buck, killed here several win- 
ters since, had been living on ivy, and every dog that fed on 
his entrails was taken with the blind staggers and nearly died." 

"What's a slink?" 

"A year-old deer. When past a year old, the male deer is 
called a spike-buck. It is said that, with every year,* a prong 
is added to their antlers, but it's a mistake. I never saw one 
with more than six prongs ; and in these mountains there's a 
certain deer, with short legs, known as the ' duck-legged buck,' 
that has been seen for. the last fifteen years, and in some unac- 
countable manner, on every drive he has escaped. Now he 
has only six prongs." 

" Have you ever seen him ? " 

" Yes ; once five years ago, and again last fall." 

" Did you ever hear of a stone being found in a deer?" 



1 5 8 After the A ntlers. 

' ' Yes, the mad stone. People believe it will cure snake- 
bite and hydrophobia. Here's one. It was found in the 
paunch of a white deer that I shot this fall was a year ago ; and, 
mind you, the deer with a mad-stone in him is twice as hard to 
kill as one of the ordinary kind." 

"A fact?" 

"Yes. Five bullets were put in the buck that carried this." 

The stone he showed was smooth and red, as large as a man's 
thumb, and with one flat, white side. The peculiar properties 
attributed to it are, in all. probability, visionary. The idea of 
its being a life preserver for the deer which carries it, savors of 
superstition. 

"Now," said Lester, coming to a halt on the ridge; "here's 
your stand. You must watch till you hear the dogs drop into 
that hollow, or cross the ridge above you. In such case, the 
deer has taken another drive-way, and it's no use for you to 
wait any longer. Start on the minute, as fast as you can go it, 
down this ridge a quarter of a mile to a big, blasted chestnut; 
then turn sharp to the right, cross the hollow and follow 
another leading ridge till you strike the river. You know 
where the Long rock is?" 

"Yes." 

" Well, make right for it, and stand there." 

He disappeared with his hounds, leaving me alone in a 
wooded, level expanse. It was then full morning, and the 
ground was well checkered with light and shadow. My seat 
was a mossy rock at the base of a beech tree, and with breech- 
loading shot-gun, cocked, and lying across my knees, I kept 
my eyes fixed on the depths of forest, and waited for the bark 
which would announce the opening of the chase. 

Soon it came, — a loud, deep baying, floating, as it seemed, 
from a long distance, across steeps, over the trees, and gather- 
ing in volume. One of the deep-mouthed hounds had evi- 



A Case of "Buck Ague." 159 

dently snuffed something satisfactory in the dewy grasses or on 
the undergrowth. His baying had been reinforced by several 
pairs of lungs, and the drive was under full head-way. Now it 
would be faint, telling of a ravine, rhododendrons, and trees 
with low umbrageous branches ; then would come a full 
burst of melody, as the noses of the pack gained the summit of 
a ridge, or swept through an open forest. But, all in all, it 
grew louder. It was still far above me, on the spurs of the 
Smokies, and seemed bearing across the long ridge on which I 
rested. Then again it turned, and, in all its glorious strength, 
swept below me, through the deep hollow. My excitement 
reached its climax just then, for suddenly there was a discord 
in the music, and every hound was yelping like mad. 

" Yip, yip, yip ! " they, rang out. 

The quick barks told a new story, — the hounds had sighted 
the game, and, for the moment, were close on its haunches. It 
was manifest that the drive-way I was on was not to be taken. 
The guide's instructions for seeking the river were now to be 
followed. Starting on a quick pace through the woods, I 
traveled as directed, and was soon on the leading ridge. One 
rifle shot startled the forest as I ran ; and, in the evening, at 
Daniel Lester's pleasant fireside, by the Little Tennessee, 
Kenswick told the following story : 

Jake Rose had selected for him an excellent stand ; admon- 
ished him to keep his eyes peeled, his gun cocked, and not take 
the "buck-ague" if a deer shot by him He heard the chorus, 
and watched and panted Suddenly, under the branches of the 
wood, appeared a big, blue buck, making long leaps toward 
him. Just as he was about to pass within 20 steps, Kenswick 
jumped out from behind his tree, and yelled like a Cherokee. 
The buck stopped, as though turned to stone, in his tracks, and 
gazed in amazement at the noisy Kenswick, who already had 
his gun at his shoulder. He tried to draw a bead, but his 



i6o After the Antlers. 

hands shook so, that he could not cover the animal by a foot. 
The buck snuffed the air, made a leap, and was away as Kens- 
wick, in utter despair, pulled the trigger, and sent a ball from 
his Remington whistling through the oak leaves. 

"Why!" he exclaimed, in the excitement of telling it, 
"look at my arm." He held it out as steady as a man taking 
sight in a duel. "Isn't that steady? Now why the devil 
couldn't I hold it that way then ?" 

"Buck ague," answered Ben Lester, quietly; and then the 
old and young hunters, around that fireside, laughed uproar- 
iously. 

The barking of the hounds, like my pace, stopped for a 
moment at the report of Kenswick's gun. Ten minutes after, 
I was on the Long rock on the bank of the Little Tennessee. 
This stand merits a description, for from it probably more deer 
have been killed than at any other single point in the mountains 
of Western North Carolina. It is at the Narrows. Here, in 
the narrowest channel of its course, from below where it begins 
to merit the name of a river, this stream, of an average width 
of 150 yards, pours the whole drainage of the counties of 
Swain, Jackson, Macon, one-half of Graham and a small portion 
of Northern Georgia, between banks eighty-five feet apart. The 
waters are those of the rivers Tuckasege, Cullasaja, Nantihala, 
Ocona Lufta, and the large creeks Soco, Scott's, Caney Fork, 
Stecoah, Forney, and Hazel, heading in the cross-chains of the 
Balsam, Cowee, Nantihala, and Valley River mountains, and on 
the southern slope of the Great Smoky. 

For 100 yards the stream shoots along like a mill-race. 
Brown boulders, the size of horses, coaches and cabins, are piled 
at the edges of the current. At the entrance to the Narrows, 
a line of rocks forms a broken fall of several feet. Over it the 
waters are white, and the. trees wet with spray. Above its 
roar, no rifle shot, or hound's bay can be heard a few feet away. 



A Famous Stand. 161 

Long rock is a dark boulder projecting into the river, at its 
very narrowest point, ioo yards below, and in full sight of the 
white rapids. The hunter leaves the road, jumps and clambers 
over a succession of immense boulders, and at length seats him- 
self on Long rock. The water, close at its edge, is forty feet 
deep. A steep mountain, following the river round every bend 
showing square, mossed rocks under the heavy autumn-tinted 
forests on its front, rises close along the river's opposite edge. 
A few sand-bars, below the stand, reach out from the mountain's 
foot. There is one narrow band of sandy bank directly op- 
posite the stand. Projecting boulders shield it from the rush of 
waters. On this sandy bank the deer, if frightened when swim- 
ming down mid-stream, will climb out, affording just the shot 
desired by the hunter. If not frightened, they will pass on to 
the smooth-water sand-bars below, and then, leaving the water, 
disappear up the mountain. 

The drive-way, for which Long rock is a stand, comes down 
to the river a few yards above the fall described. There are no 
rapids on the Tennessee, but what can be swum by the deer. 
In many instances, to cool his body and baffle the hounds, he 
keeps the center of the stream for a mile or more, sometimes 
stopping in the water for hours before resuming his course. 
The hounds, when the deer is in sight, follow him in the water, 
and generally succeed in drowning him before he reaches the 
bank. 

A deer in the water can be easily managed, but, as seen by 
the following anecdote, there is considerable danger in ventur- 
ing in after one. Still living in the Smoky Mountain section of 
the Tennessee, is an old hunter, by name, Brit Mayner. In 
the days when his limbs were more supple, he was brave, even 
to foolhardiness, and, on one occasion, as told by a participant 
in the hunt, he came near losing his life. A deer had been run 
to the river, and in mid-stream was surrounded by the hounds. 



1 62 After the Antlers. 

Through the great strength and endurance ot the deer, the 
hounds were kept in the water until Mayner, becoming im- 
patient, decided to settle the fight by his own hand. He di- 
vested and swam out. At his first pass at the deer, the hounds 
took umbrage, and fiercely attacked him. It was deer and dogs 
against man. All were in earnest, and it was only by his ex- 
pertness as a swimmer that Mayner escaped being drowned. 

That morning I reached the river, and covered the stand. 
The sun's rays, striking the open water, were bright and warm. 
Only a slight breeze was blowing, and the frostiness of the air 
had disappeared. There was no shadow over the rock; and, 
sweating from my rapid run, to make myself comfortable I 
threw off my coat, vest and shoes. 

A position on the deer stand, when one must keep his eyes 
on the running water, is most tiresome, even for a few hours. 
The hunter on Long rock can, however, study his surroundings 
without much imperiling his reputation as a sportsman ; for, 
unless he turned his back entirely on the upper stream, it would 
be impossible for a deer to reach his point unnoticed. The 
white rapids, the mountains around the distant bend, the rich- 
colored wooded slopes on both sides, the sound of waves dash- 
ing against the banks, and the swash of water among the piles 
of rock, has, in all, something to make him a dreamer, and 
pass the hours away uncounted. 

An hour passed, and then I noticed a dark object amid the 
white foam of the rapids. A moment later it was in the 
smooth, swift-flowing waters, and bearing down the center of 
the current. My blood jumped in my veins as I saw plainly 
the outline of the object. There was the nose, the eyes, the 
ears, and, above all, a pair of branching antlers, making up the 
blue head of what was undoubtedly a magnificent buck. 

When he was within 50 yards of Long rock, I jumped to 
my feet, hallooed at the top of my voice, took off my hat and 



The Supreme Moment. t 163 

waved it aloft. The buck saw me, I dropped my hat and 
leveled my gun. He tried to turn and stem the current, but it 
was too strong, and bore him to the sand-bank, directly oppo- 
site my stand. What a shot he would have made in the water ! 
His feet touched bottom, and then his 'blue neck and shoulders 
appeared, but not before the report of my gun rang out. True, 
my hand trembled, but, with a fair bead on his head, I had 
made the shot. Through the smoke, I saw him make several 
spasmodic efforts to draw his body out of the water, and then, 
still struggling, he fell back with a splash. 

As I stood there, in my stocking feet, and feeling a few 
inches taller, I had no doubt that the deer was dead, but I 
was all at once startled by the danger I was in of losing him. 
The current before the sand-bank kept moving his body, and I 
saw plainly that in a few minutes it might drift him into swifter 
waters, where he might sink. To lose the game, at any 
hazard, was out of the question. In a twinkling, my panta- 
loons and shirt were off, besides the clothes of which I had 
previously denuded myself, and a second after, I had plunged 
head-first into the Tennessee. 

The current bore me down stream like an arrow, but an ac- 
complishment, picked up in truant days, came in good stead, 
and with a few, strong strokes, I reached and climbed out on 
a sand-bar, at some distance below where I had made the 
plunge. As I rose to my feet, I was dumb-founded to see an 
antlered head rise from behind the rocks where lay the supposed 
slaughtered deer. Then the whole blue form of a buck ap- 
peared in view, and leaped from sight, up the rocks, and under 
the trees on the mountain's steep front. The sight chilled me 
more than the waters of the Tennessee. It was the very buck 
I had shot. 

I hurried up the bank, clambered over the cold rocks, and 
reached the sand-bar where my game had fallen. It was bare! 



1 64 After the Antlers. 

I could not convince myself of its being a dream, for there 
were the imprints of the hoofs. 'I picked up the shattered 
prong of an antler. It had been cut off by a charge of buck- 
shot. The mystery of the fall and subsequent disappearance 
was explained. My shot had hit one of his antlers and simply 
stunned him for a moment. Just then a voice rang from the 
rocks across the river: 

" Are ye taking a swim?" 

"No, just cooling off, " I answered. 

It was Ben Lester who spoke, and with him was Sanford and 
the dogs. 

"Where is the deer that came this way? What luck have 
you had? Why aint you here watching?" yelled Sanford. 

I did not stop to answer his volley of questions, but plunged 
into the river, and reached the opposite bank. Then, dressing 
myself, I explained. 

"Well," said Lester, as I finished, "no more could have 
been expected." 

"Why?" I asked rather indignantly; for although I fully 
realized that I had proved myself a miserable shot, I did not 
like being accused of it in terms like these. 

"No one could have done any better," he answered 

"No better?" 

"Not a bit. It was the duck-legged buck ! " 

"Are you sure?" I asked, feeling like a drowning man sight- 
ing a buoy ; for here lay the shadow of an excuse for my failure. 

"Of course. I saw him leave you. I'll bet my last dollar 
that he has inside of him a mad-stone as big as your fist!" 
Then shaking his head, and talking half aloud to himself; 
"Strange, strange, strange! Fifteen years old, and still alive! " 

I did not attempt to scatter his superstition by telling that in 
reality I had hit the buck, and that it was wholly due to my 
poor marksmanship that he escaped. Sanford thten told how 



Around the Hunters Hearthstone. 165 

he had topped a doe at his stand and killed her, — the only 
game secured that day. In the afternoon the Rose brothers 
brought it with our horses, as we had directed, to the house of 
Daniel Lester. 

Lester's is an unpretentious, double log house, situated in the 
center of a tract of cultivated hill-side land on the north or east 
bank of the Little Tennessee, thirty-three miles from Charles- 
ton, North Carolina, and three miles from the Tennessee state 
line. It is approached by a good wagon-road from Charleston, 
or from Marysville, Tennessee, the head of the nearest railroad. 
The view from the door-way is of exquisite beauty, especially 
towards evening when the wine-red October sun is sinking amid 
the clouds beyond the mountain summits at the far end of the. 
river, and pours a dying glory over the scene. Daniel Lester is 
a man of prominence in the county. His is a North Carolinian 
hospitality, and we will always hold in pleasant remembrance 
our short stay at his humble dwelling. 

The most pleasant time of the hunt is the evening of the 
hunt, when darkness has fallen, all the party is within the same 
doors, a rousing fire roars and leaps in the great, open chimney, 
and flings its light in every face, the faucet of the cider-barrel is 
turned at intervals, chestnuts are bursting on the hot hearth- 
stones, and after every man in his turn has recounted his day's 
experience, the oldest hunter of the group tells his most thrill- 
ing "varmint" stories, till the flames die down to glowing coals, 
and midnight proclaims the end of the day in which we were 
after the antlers. 



NATURAL RESOURCES. 



"I'd kind o' like to have a cot 
Fixed on some sunny slope; a spot, 

Five acres, more or less, 
With maples, cedars, cherry-trees, 
And poplars whitening in the breeze." 

•TJ^HAT clever humorist, Mark Twain, represents himself as 
Zj^> once patriotically telling the Secretary of the Treasury, 
that his annual report was too dry, too statistical ; that he 
ought to get some jokes into it, wood cuts, at least; people 
read the almanac for the fun, etc. The humorist's idea is not 
new. It was unintentionally put into practice by a much respect- 
ed old geographer, who wrote the statistical treatise on the 
earth's surface, which occupied many long hours of our pleasure 
loving youth, in obstinate efforts at memorizing. That vener- 
able book contained, with wood cuts and all, probably the most 
successful joke in school literature. We remember this sen- 
tence : "The staple productions of North Carolina are tar, 
pitch, resin, and turpentine." The picture represented a 

gloomy forest, a rude still, and a group of dirty men. A crowd 

167 



1 68 Natural Resources. 

of later writers 01 school geographies have thought this canard 
on a great state, with varied industries, too good to be lost, 
but remembering that every ounce of fiction, to be palatable, 
must contain a drachm of truth, added lumber. It has now 
been stereotyped, " pitch, tar, turpentine, and lumber." If 
anyone has been fooled by the books of his youth, six hours 
travel from the coast westward, during which he will see broad 
fields of corn and plantations of cotton and tobacco, will lead 
him to an appreciation of the "tar-heel joke." North Carolina 
does lead all the states in the production of resin and turpen- 
tine, but that industry does not employ one-thirtieth of her 
active capital, nor constitute one-fifteenth of her gross produc- 
tion. Her lumber resources constitute a real and important 
source of wealth and will receive some attention in this sketch. 
The state of North Carolina could probably get along without 
the rest of the world more comfortably than any territory of 
equal size in the western hemisphere. With its eastern border 
dipping into the tropical gulf stream and its western border 
projecting more than a mile skyward, the state possesses a 
climate almost continental in its range. An old poet describing 
the spread-eagle breadth of his country said that it stretched 

" From Maine's dark pines and crags of snow 
To where Magnolian breezes blow." 

From a climatical and botanical point of view North Carolina 
is as large as the country described by the poet's couplet. But 
it is not the whole state we propose to discuss. That subject 
is too long for the prescribed brevity of our paper, which will 
permit us to do but partial justice to the particular section 
included in the scope of this volume. We begin with agricul- 
ture, the most varied of the three divisions of productive indus- 
try. 

The line of 800 feet altitude follows the general direction of 
the Blue Ridge, and crosses the counties of Gaston, Lincoln, 



North Carolina Tobacco. 169 

Catawba, Iredell, Davie, Forsyth, and Stokes. The best cot- 
ton lands of the State lie east of this line, but cotton is success- 
fully raised in all the counties we have named. There was a 
time when planters chose cotton lands with the greatest regard 
for soil and climate, but experience has greatly increased the 
cotton producing area, which, by the aid of improved fertilizers, 
may be still further enlarged. The crop, without the aid 
of artificial stimulants, can not be profitably raised in North 
Carolina above the line of 800 feet altitude. It has been culti- 
vated for more than home consumption only within the last few 
years. Most planters have realized profitable returns, though 
the probabilities are that it is not the most remunerative crop. 
Present tendencies indicate that tobacco will become the chief 
staple agricultural product of Western North Carolina. The 
value of a crop, especially where transportation is high, does 
not depend so much on the number of pounds as on the price 
of each pound. This is why North Carolina has the advantage 
of all other tobacco producing states. It can easily be shown 
that the piedmont and transmontane table lands have advan- 
tages over the other sections of the state in which they are 
included. While the crop of Ohio, which produces a heavy 
dark leal, weighs more than double the crop of North Carolina, 
yet where estimates are made upon the basis of market value 
the latter state will be found to stand first. The heavy leaves 
of dark soils contain a large percentage of nitiogen and are 
charged with nicotine, rendering them unpleasant to the taste 
and smell, and injurious to the health. Not only is the bright 
yellow leaf of the Southern Alleghanies singularly free of these 
unpleasant and unhealthful properties, but the golden beauty of 
its color gives it a value far above any American tobacco. ' ' It 
is an undeniable fact," says Colonel Cameron in his Sketch, 
( 'that North Carolina is the producer of tobacco, unequalled 
even in Virginia ; and yet, owing to the course trade has 



170 Natural Resources. 

taken, she is deprived of her due credit both in quality anu 
quantity. Until within a few years, when she has built up some 
interior markets, Virginia had absorbed her fame as well as 
her products." 

It is the experience of planters, that a soil composed of sand 
mixed with clay and gravel, is most favorable to the production 
of the gold leaf. The conditions of climate are : cool nights, 
copious rainfall in summer, and a dry September. These cli- 
matic conditions are more perfectly filled in Western North 
Carolina than anywhere in the country. So far as relates to 
soil, there are portions of every county, with the possible ex- 
ception of Watauga, which is too elevated, admirably adapted 
to the crop. We will briefly speak of localities, beginning with 
the piedmont belt, which consists of an irregular plain, sloping 
from the foot of the Blue Ridge toward the southeast. The 
surface is undulating and well drained, but even and easily cul- 
tivated; except where the South mountain chain, and its pro- 
jecting spurs, have made precipitous slopes. The prevailing 
timber is yellow pine, post oak, and hickory, and in the valleys 
and on the foot-hills, poplar, white oak, elm, and other hard- 
woods abound. Large areas are yet in native forest, and 
smaller ' tracts are covered with what is known as old field 
growth — scrub oak and pines. There is too much of that 
desolation called ''old field" to make the landscape attractive 
to the tourist. Any who are interested in agriculture, and those 
departments of business based upon it, should survey with care 
the piedmont belt of counties. 

The valleys of the Broad, Catawba, and Yadkin, offer for all 
kinds of husbandry an inviting field. The soil is composed of 
a mixture of sand and loam, with an impervious clay sub-soil. 
The climatic conditions are equally auspicious. Abundance of 
rain, low humidity, cool nights, temperate days, and equable 
seasons, contribute alike to the luxuriance of plants and the 



Inviting Fields. 171 

health of animals. The headwater valleys of the three rivers 
we have named, resemble each other in all essential particulars. 
The uplands, which constitute the water-sheds, have in their 
soil a larger percentage of clay, and are consequently less de- 
sirable than the bottoms, yet with care and intelligent cultiva- 
tion, grasses could be grown with profit. The yield of corn, 
wheat, and oats, will compare favorably with any other locality 
in the South. It is by no means extravagant to say that soil 
of the more favored localities has, for cereals, double its present 
capacity. Though the region has been settled for a century, 
no attempt, except on the part of a few individuals, has been 
made to reduce agriculture to the basis of an economic science., 
The native population has been tardy in taking hold of tobacco 
culture, the most remunerative of all crops. It was indeed 
left to immigrants to experiment, and prove the adaptability of 
the soil and climate to the plant. The experimental period is 
now passed, and but a few years remain till the surplus lands are 
purchased by progressive planters. Prices have already in- 
creased. Farms which five years ago begged purchasers at 
three to five dollars per acre, now sell readily at from eight to 
twenty. The only danger to a further increase is the disposition, 
common to the human race, to kill the goose which lays the 
golden egg. A great many localities in Western North Carolina 
are already suffering from this ruinous policy. Immigration is 
needed, both for the good of the country and the advancement 
of values, but people are not disposed to leave all the associations 
and security of home, without some strong inducement. The 
many tempting inducements which Western North Carolina 
offers, in various fields of enterprise, will quickly and surely be 
destroyed by a sudden and radical advance of prices. This 
remark applies to the timber and mineral tracts, as well as agri- 
cultural lands. 

The growth of the new town of Hickory furnishes an illus- 



172 Natural Resources. 

tration of what a little leaven of industry will do in one of 
these old and rather dead communities. Prior to 1867 there had 
been nothing more than a country tavern at the present site of 
the town. The completion to, and long rest at, that point of 
the Western North Carolina railroad, brought into existence a* 
small hamlet, which was incorporated as "Hickory Tavern." 
But a little more than ten years ago, a new air began to blow, 
which set things astir, and has been keeping them astir ever 
since. In 1870, the township had a population of 1,591, the 
village existing only in a scattered street and a name; in 1880, 
the enumeration showed a population of 3,071, and the village, 
itself, has a population of not less than 1,400. Its trade is 
larger than that of any town between Salisbury and Asheville, 
commanding, by its location, several counties. Tobacco, which 
can always be relied upon for a cash return, has been the main 
instrument in stimulating general industry. Business being of 
a productive character — that is, converting raw material into 
merchantable goods — is upon a safe and substantial basis. 
There are two warehouses for the sale of leaf tobacco, four to- 
bacco factories, several saw-mills, planing- and shingle-mills, etc., 
the Piedmont wagon factory, and an iron foundry. The health- 
fulness of the climate attracts all the people during summer 
which two hotels and a number of private boarding-houses can 
accommodate. St. Joseph's Academy of the Blue Ridge, a 
Catholic seminary of some celebrity, is located in the village. 
There is also a flourishing Protestant institution for women, 
known as Claremont College ; a third institution of learning, is 
Highland school ; the three, together with the public school, 
giving the place unusual educational advantages. The railroad 
depot stands in the center of the spacious public square, around 
which most of the mercantile business is done. The railroad 
cannot be said to have been built through the town, the town 
has been built around the railroad station. The business build- 



The Piedmont Counties. 175 

ings are mostly of brick, and substantial, while the residences 
show thrift and taste on the part of their owners. 

Shelby is the second town in size in the piedmont belt, hav- 
ing a population of 990 in 1880. It is pleasantly situated in 
the valley of First Broad river, and is surrounded by good 
lands. An experienced planter ranks Cleveland county, of 
which it is the capital town, first in the belt in adaptation to 
the culture of tobacco. Shelby is likely to be visited by all 
who review the historic field on Kings mountain. There is 
near the town, one of the oldest health and pleasure resorts in 
the state. 

Rutherford and Polk counties, drained by the Broad river, 
on the west and northwest, are elevated to the summit of the 
Blue Ridge, and are cut by its projecting spurs, and by the 
straggling chain of the South mountains. Their southern por- 
tions are level, and contain many acres of good land. 

The valley of the Catawba, in Burke and McDowell, is un- 
excelled in the piedmont region for corn, wheat, oats, and vege- 
tables. The soil is a clay loam, mixed with sand. The sub- 
soil is an impervious clay, which prevents the filtration of ap- 
plied fertilizers. Better improvements than are found in most 
localities bespeak thrift. The trade of the upper Catawba, and 
its tributaries, goes to Morganton and Marion. Alexander, 
Caldwell, and Wilkes, are fast taking high rank as tobacco pro- 
ducing counties, though it is probable Catawba will maintain 
the lead in this industry. 

A few words to the intending immigrant may not be amiss. 
It is not wise to select " old field land," with a view to raising it 
to a good state of cultivation. Most of those footprints of deso- 
lation are beyond recovery. Those which are not, it will not 
pay to attempt to recover as long as soils less worn remain 
purchasable at reasonable figures. A Philadelphia colony made 
the experiment, against which we warn, in Burke county, near 



176 Natuml Resources. 

Morgantown, a few years since. Like most Northerners who 
come south, they brought with them the ideas of northern farm 
life, and the methods of northern agriculture. With character- 
istic egotism, they never, for a moment, doubted their ability 
to build up what the native had allowed to run down and 
abandon as worthless. They purchased, at a round price, a 
large tract of old fields, built comfortable frame houses, and 
furnished them expensively. But much use and abuse had ex- 
hausted the clay of its substance, and, in spite of deep plough- 
ing and careful seeding, it yielded no harvest. Their furniture 
was sold at a sacrifice, and they returned, to Pennsylvania, dis- 
heartened. If they had selected the best lands, instead of the 
worst, and been content to live economically, as poor people 
must live, the result might have been different. The folly 
which has made old fields, makes trying to resuscitate them none 
the less foolish, though buyers are frequently made to believe 
the contrary. The question naturally comes up : why are 
there so many of these ugly blots, marked by scrubby pines, 
upon the face of an otherwise fair landscape ? The answer is, 
indifferent farming, resulting, in a great many cases, from the 
ownership of too much land. There was no object in saving 
manures, and ploughing deep, when the next tract lay in virgin 
soil, awaiting the axe, plough, and hoe. The writer remarked 
to a farmer, in Burke county, that his corn looked yellow and 
inquired the reason. 

"Waal," said he, "I gin hit up. I've worked that thar 
patch in corn now nigh onto forty year, and hits gin worster 
and worster every year. I reckon hits the seasons." 

To an intelligent planter in Catawba, I explained my inability 
to understand how soil, originally good, could be made so abso- 
lutely unproductive. 

Evidently taking my question to imply some doubt as to the 
virginal fertility of which he had been telling me, he pointed 



' ' Old Field Land. " 1 77 

significantly to an adjoining field, where a woman was plowing, 
or' more properly speaking, stirring the weeds with a little bull- 
tongue plow, drawn by a fresh cow, while the calf, following 
after, with difficulty, kept in the half made furrow. "You see 
what kind of work that is," said my friend, "but in spite of it, 
they will harvest 15 bushels of wheat to the acre." When, a 
little further along, I saw a wooden-toothed harrow in the 
fence corner, I was ready to give nature considerable credit. 

During the same ride, while crossing a sand ridge, we came 
where some men were making a clearing. The prevailing 
growth, standing close together, was a species of pine, uni- 
formly about one foot stumpage, and reaching, mast-like, to the 
altitude of sixty feet. Between these were scrub oaks four to 
six inches in diameter, making the thicket so dense that to ride 
a horse through it would have been difficult.' 

"It strikes me," said I, "as rather a strange fact, that those 
pines are all the same size. What species are they?" 

"Those," replied my friend, "are what we call old field 
pine. You asked me back there how land could be so com- 
pletely worn out ; here we have an example. That piece of 
land was cleared, may be, 100 years ago. It was then worked in 
corn, corn, nothing but corn, for may be twenty years, or more; 
not a drop of anything put on. It was then completely worked 
out, and turned public to grow up in timber again. Now it 
has been shaded and catching leaves for many a year, and has 
got some nutriment on top. They will work it in corn or 
wheat till there's no substance left. The bottom was all taken 
out by the first working, and there will be nothing left to make 
a growth of trees a second time. When they get it worked out 
this time, its gone forever ; over here on this side is a specimen. 
That field was cleared a second time ten years ago ; now you 
see it won't hardly raise Japan clover, and never will." 

' : Don't you try to sell these old fields, and old field forests, 



178 Natural Resources. 

to men who come in here from abroad to make purchases?" I 
inquired. 

" Well, it's natural for us to get something out of this waste 
when we get the chance. But you've traveled in these parts, 
and seen large bodies of good land to be bought at low figures, 
and you may say that anybody that comes here will be treated 
right." 

"Suppose," said I, "that on these better tracts Yankee 
methods should be adopted : — after every few years of cultivation, 
seed the land down to grass, which feed to stock in barns ; feed 
your corn fodder steamed, and use your wheat and oats straw 
for stable bedding. In that way almost all the vegetation taken 
off the soil is returned in a decomposed and enriched form." 

"Generally speaking," said my companion, "I have little faith 
in Yankee ways in the South. I used to have a plantation in 
the low country, and have seen lots of those fellows come down 
with nickel-plated harness and steel plows. Most of them 
would begin to cultivate our friendship by telling us we didn't 
know anything about our business. But we noticed that they 
all had to come to our ways, or sell out. The idea of Northern 
newspapers, that our plantations before the war were not worked 
system ically, is a mistake. Still I think your idea of farming in 
this elevated country is correct. You see here, with the excep- 
tion of long, rigid winters, the climate is essentially northern, 
owing to our elevation. Every experiment at improved farming 
has been successful, though very few have been made." 

We were reminded by this of a story told by General Cling- 
man, of Asheville, at the expense of an intelligent citizen of 
Buncombe county, whose residence was on Beetree creek, a 
branch of the Swanannoa. ' ' As the surface of the stream was 
almost level with the surface of the ground, my fellow-citi- 
zen," says Clingman, "being of good intellect and general 
reading, saw on reflection that he could with little trouble 



Stable Cleaning a (a Hercnlcs. lyq 

utilize its waters. He constructed his stable just as near to it 
as possible, and then cut a slight ditch to the stream, and with 
the aid of a hastily made gate of boards, he could at will let the 
water into his stable. When, therefore, his stable became 
rather full of manure, he had only to turn his horses on the 
pasture for a day, raise his little gate, and in a few minutes the 
stream of water was carrying everything away, and left the 
stable much cleaner than it would have been had he used a 
mattock and spade. His neighbors all admired his ingenuity 
in being able to devise such a labor-saving operation." 

Watauga is the highest county of the Appalachians. Few 
of its valleys dip below 3,000 feet above tide level, while a 
few peaks of its boundary chains lift to about 6,000. The 
spurs projecting into this highland basin are neither high nor 
abrupt, and the ascent from the interior to the crest of the 
great chains of the Blue Ridge, the Yellow mountain and the 
Stone and Iron, is at places so gradual as to be imperceptible. 
The bottoms along the Watagua river and its many branches, 
and along the New river and its branches in Watauga and 
Ashe counties, are well adapted to almost all the cereals, to 
vegetable roots, and to the hardier varieties of fruits. Ashe 
county bears a general resemblance to Watagua, but is about 
1,000 feet lower, and consequently warmer. The climate of both 
counties is almost identical with the famous butter and cheese 
-districts of central and western New York. Indeed, few sec- 
tions of the eastern part of the United States are more inviting 
for stock raising and dairying. All the heavy mountain ranges 
of the southern Alleghanies furnish a large amount of wild veg- 
etation nutritive for almost all kinds of domestic animals. The 
lofty tops are heavily sodded. Being cool and well watered, 
they are unsurpassed as pastures during at least seven months 
in the year. Stock in some localities has been known to sub- 
sist upon them during the entire year, but no prudent ranger 



180 Natural Resources. 

i 

will fail to provide for his cattle and horses at least three 
months' feed and two months' valley pasture. Sheep cannot 
with safety be turned out on the distant mountain range, but 
in most localities they will find abundant subsistance upon the 
nearer slopes. Almost anywhere on the luxurious uplands 
a fcoat would think himself in a paradise. A gentleman of 
large experience in the stock business in Ashe county informed 
the writer that most failures result from an attempt to keep 
larger herds than the valleys will sustain. Experience had 
taught him that it is never safe to multiply the number of 
horses and cattle beyond the number of acres of tillable valley 
land, while twice that number of sheep can be kept. The 
mountain slopes, however, now almost a waste of woodland, are 
fertile, and might be reduced, at small outlay, to valuable pas- 
tures, and thus the capacity of the country increased tenfold. 
These slopes are not, as in most mountain countries, rocky and 
broken by exposed ledges. To the very top there is a heavy 
covering of earth, surfaced by a black vegetable mold, which 
only needs the assistance of sunlight to bring forth grass in pro- 
fusion. By simply grubbing out the undergrowth and deaden- 
ing the large trees, the capacity for stock, ofalmost any locality 
of the trans-Blue Ridge portion of North Carolina, could be 
quadrupled. The price of valley land in Ashe, Alleghany and 
Watauga counties ranges from ten to fifteen dollars per acre. 
The mountains are purchasable at prices ranging from forty 
cents to three dollars per acre, the average price for any large 
tract being about one dollar. 

The writer knows of only two large ventures having been 
made in sheep raising ; one in Haywood county, and the other 
in Graham. They both resulted in total failure, due, however, 
wholly to the inexperience of the operators, or ignorance of 
the shepherds employed by them. In the first instance, inade- 
quate valley pasturage had been provided, upon which to sup- 



Stock-Raising. 1 8 1 

port a flock of about 500 sheep during the few cold months of 
the winter. The flock, through exposure and scanty feed, be- 
came so reduced in number, before the opening of an early 
spring, that its owner abandoned his project. 

In Graham county, a northern gentleman having purchased 
the largest and one of the finest farms in that locality, discov- 
ering that the surrounding range was admirably adapted for> 
sheep raising, on a large scale, shipped in a flock of 800 merino 
sheep. They were ill attended by ignorant shepherds, and all 
of them soon died. 

Through care in the purchase of a valley farm, adjacent to 
fair upland, and bald, mountain-summit pastures, and in the 
matter of selecting competent hands, together with some per- 
sonal attention to the business on the part of the operator, 
there is no reason why large profits might not flow from a ven- i 
ture in this line. 

The remarks upon stock-raising in Watauga and Ashe 
counties, will apply in general to every other county of the 
intermontane division of the state, though, of course, some 
counties are more favored than others ; and the natural conditions 
vary in detail in each. Yancey and Mitchell have large tracts 
adapted to this industry. The experiment of raising tobacco 
has been found successful in the lower and more sandy portions 
of Mitchell. This remunerative crop is no longer an experi- 
ment in Yancey, the soil and climate in the western part being 
well adapted to it. 

The French Broad valley, from an agricultural point of view, 
is deserving of special attention. The territory embraced is 
divided into four counties — Madison, Buncombe, Henderson, 
and Transylvania. 

I was riding with a friend one afternoon in September, through 
the canon of the French Broad. We were occupying the steps 
to the back platform of the last car, feasting, for the twentieth 



182 



Natural Resources. 



time, upon the ever-changing display of beauty. "This," said 
my friend, interrupting the silence, ' ' is all very impressive. No 
one, whose feelings have any communion with nature, can 
escape the charm of these bold precipices, robed with vines, 
and crowned with golden forest. These curves are the material- 
ization of beauty. That surging, dash- 
ing, foaming, torrent, gradually eroding 

«, „_.„_„ its channel deeper into the 

BB i adamantine granite, is a 

■* grand demonstration of the 
superiority of force over 
matter. The great draw- 
back to this valley is its 
gjj^ poverty of useful pro- 
ductions. Western 
North Carolina, it 
strikes me, 
maybe corn- 
great p i c- 
we never fail 
pleasure 
there is noth- 
make money 
even to fur- 
spectable liv- 
the scenery 
that can pos- 
sired, and the 
most perfect, 
can never be 
more than it 




pared to a 
tureorpoem; 
to derive 
from it, yet 
ing in it to 
out of, or 
nish a re- 
ing. While 
here is all ^ 

sibly be de- S 

climate is al- 

this country 

anything the French broad canon. 

is now, except, perhaps, in the number and size of its sum 

mer hotels. It hasn't the resources." 



The Tobacco Slopes of Madison. 183 

"What is the extent of your knowledge of this country?" 
I inquired. 

"Oh, merely what I've seen from the railroad line, but I 
suppose it's pretty much all alike." , 

My friend was mistaken, in supposing that the wealth of the 
Southern Alleghanies consists wholly in scenery and climate. 
He was also mistaken in supposing that railroad views had 
afforded him any considerable knowledge of the country. 

Madison county, back of the river bluffs, is almost wholly a 
succession of hills, coves and narrow valleys, nine-tenths of it 
timbered with a heavy growth of hard and soft woods. The 
slopes are remarkable for fertility, there being small particles 
of lime percolated through the soil. The cultivated grasses 
grow rank, and the cereals ' yield satisfactory harvests. But 
owing to the limited area of the valleys, and the almost entire 
absence of level land, ordinary farming can never be carried 
on in Madison with remunerative results. Too much labor is 
required to cultivate an acre of the slopes for the ordinary 
return in wheat or corn. It is in tobacco that the Madison 
county farmer has found his Eldorado. I know of no industry 
which offers so much inducement to the poor laborer as the cul- 
tivation of this crop. There is no staple product which derives 
its value so exclusively from labor, or yields to that labor a 
larger return. A few figures will serve to illustrate. Uncleared 
land can be purchased at an average price of $3 per acre, in 
small tracts. About one-third of the purchase will be found 
adapted to tobacco, making the cost of tillable land $9 an acre. 
Basing our estimates upon the production of the last three 
years, a yield of $200 from each acre planted may be expected. 
In addition to such other small crops as are needed to yield 
food for his family, an industrious man and two small boys can 
clear, prepare the soil, and cultivate four and one-half acres a 



184 Natural Resources. 

year, which, if properly cured, will bring in the market $900 — 
money enough to pay for three hundred acres of land. 

The sunny slopes are considered by planters best adapted to 
the crop. Sand and gravel is the needed composition of soil, 
and a forest growth of white pine indicates auspicious conditions. 
The east side of the French Broad has been found to have 
more eood tobacco land than the west, but the ratio we have 
given is not too great for either side. The crop leaves the soil 
in excellent condition for wheat and grass after four years' cul- 
tivation, though at the present prices of land, planters would 
find it economical to sow in wheat and seed to grass after two 
years' cultivation in tobacco. The gross aggregate of the crop 
of 1882 in Madison county will probably be $250,000. W. W. 
Rollins, of Marshall, is extensively engaged in the business, the 
number of his tenant families being about sixty. 

Up the river, into Buncombe county, the valleys widen, and 
the acreage of comparatively level land increases ; the settle- 
ment becomes denser, and the proportion of cleared land to 
native forest, is greater than in any county west of the Blue 
Ridge. 

The valleys of Hominy creek, Swanannoa, and Upper 
French Broad, contain several thousand acres which could be 
cultivated with improved machinery. The soil is of average 
fertility — well adapted to the cereals, grasses and tobacco — but 
in many localities its capacity has been lowered by use and 
abuse. Some valleys, naturally fertile, are almost wholly ex- 
hausted. There has been, however, marked improvement, both 
in farming methods and farming machinery, within the last five 
years. 

Above Buncombe, in the French Broad valley, are Henderson 
and Transylvania counties, embraced within high mountain 
chains, and formed of a basin-like territory, which bears some 
evidence of having once been a lake. It is a surprise, to most 



The Upper French Broad. 185 

people, to find, within a few miles of the crest of the Blue 
Ridge, a marsh of such extent as exists in Henderson county. 

The French Broad changes its character at Asheville, below 
which place it is a torrent, and above a placid, almost immobile 
stream, rising to the slightly higher altitude of the . pper val- 
ley, in terraces, rather than by gradual ascent. Its shallow 
channel is bordered by alluvial bottoms — deposits carried from 
the mountain slopes — varying in width from a few rods to five 
miles, making, with a background of .mountains rising massive- 
ly in the distance, a landscape of surpassing beauty. A con- 
servative estimate places the number of acres of first bottom 
land along the upper valley of the French Broad and its 
tributaries at 20,000, and twice that number of acres could be 
cultivated with sulky plows and harvested with self-binding 
reapers. Cane creek, followed by the Henderson and Bun- 
combe county line, drains considerable low land — at places near 
its mouth almost marshy. On the opposite side of the French 
Broad there is a wide expanse of alluvial land, cut by Mill's 
river, and extending for a distance of two miles up that stream, 
where the valley becomes second bottom and slope. 

Ochlawaha (Mud creek, locally named) emptying into the 
French Broad from the east, like its Florida namesake, is a lazy, 
sluggish stream. Its headsprings are in the crest of the Blue 
Ridge, all the way from the high Pinnacle and Hebron range to 
Sugarloaf and Bearwallow. The immediate basin of the stream 
from a short distance below Flat Rock, to its mouth, bears a 
unique character, being the only marsh in Western North Caro- 
lina. Its width varies from one fourth to two miles, and its 
length may be estimated at ten miles. A rank growth of vege- 
tation is annually submerged. A soil of vegetable mold sever- 
al feet in depth has been formed. Recent surveys show that 
the decline is sufficient to admit of perfect drainage, which 



1 86 Natural Resources. 

would make this one of the most valuable agricultural and graz- 
ing tracts in the country. 

The crest of the Blue Ridge, in Henderson county, is an un- 
du.ating plateau, which will not be recognized by the traveler 
in crossing. The Saluda mountains, beyond Green river, are the 
boundary line of vision on the south. The general surface fea- 
tures of the central part of this pearl of counties will be best 
seen by a glance at the pictorial view from Dun Cragin, near 
Hendersonville. 

Above the mouth of Ochlawaha the bottoms of French 
Broad gradually widen. The foot hills being the fartherest dis- 
tance apart above the mouth of Little river, Boylston creek, 
Cathey's creek, Davidson's river, Little river and both forks of 
French Broad all have tempting valleys. It should be remarked 
that a large per centage of the land in these fair and fertile bot- 
toms has been badly worn by much poor farming, but very 
little is worn out, so that there is yet not only hope but certainty 
of redemption by proper management. The expense of re- 
invigorating exhausted tracts is materially lightened by the pres- 
ence of limestone outcrops. 

As a grazing district the upper French Broad has advantages 
over any other section of equal extent, though there are else- 
where small localities which surpass any portion of it. These 
advantages are, extent of level tillable land for hay and grain, 
altitude which insures low temperature and healthfulness, and 
third, proximity to the best wild range in the Balsams and Blue 
Rido-e. The scientific agriculturist will be able to draw conclu- 
sions from the following recapitulations of conditions: abund- 
ance of rain, perfect drainage, warm sun, cool breezes, and an 
alluvial soil with occasional outcrops of lime rock. 

All the good grains produce well. Vegetables grow to a 
large size. Experiments in the culture of tobacco have been 
successful in the main, and the industry may become an import- 



The Pigeon Valley. 187 

ant one. The population is more intelligent than in most rural 
districts. The one great thing needed is adequate and cheap 
transportation facilities. One railroad taps this territory at 
Hendersonville, but more are needed. There remain large 
tracts of unimproved lands which might be reduced to a state 
of cultivation. What is locally known as the Pink Beds, in the 
northwestern part of Transylvania, a dense forest plateau, is an 
absolute wilderness in which a lost traveler might wander for 
days before finding his way to a settlement. Among the spurs 
of the Balsam range and Blue Ridge, and in the valley of Green 
river there are many thousand acres of forest. 

The Pigeon river in North Carolina is exclusively the property 
of Haywood county. Its water sheds are, on the west the 
main chain of the Balsam range, and on the south and east the 
Balsams and New-found mountains. The political division 
follows almost exactly this line. The principal tributaries of 
the Pigeon, each draining fine valleys, are, on the west Cata- 
luche, Jonathan's creek and Richland creek ; on the east Fines 
creek. The main channel is divided by Cold mountain into 
two prongs. The valley of Pigeon throughout its whole length 
is wide and undulating, except where it cuts its way through 
the Smoky mountains into Tennessee. Below the junction of 
Richland creek the soil is a mixture of sand and gravel. Far- 
ther up it partakes more of a clayey character. The fertility of 
the mountains is evidenced by the great size and variety of the 
forest growth. The ranges being high, the coves are long, and 
give to the distant view from the valley a peculiarly pleasing 
effect. Good crops of corn, wheat, oats, buckwheat, etc., can 
be raised almost to the crest of the highest mountains. The 
Balsams furnish more wild range than any other chain. Hay- 
wood has for many years had the reputation of being the best 
wheat county in the transmontane portion of the state, and with 
proper cultivation has the capacity to sustain that reputation. 



1 88 Natural Resources. 

The culture of tobacco in the northern and lower portion has 
been entirely successful, and will soon become an important 
element of industry. 

Across the Balsam range into Jackson and Swain counties we 
recognize newer settlements. This fact partially accounts for 
sparcer population and less extensive tracts under cultivation. 
But a better reason is found in the more broken condition 
of the country and consequent narrowness of the valleys. Of 
the fertility of the mountains in Jackson there can be no doubt, 
for the trees are larger and of finer texture than of any other 
locality. . Swain county differs from Jackson in having more 
river bottom land, a sandier soil, and a warmer climate. About 
one-third of its territory is a wilderness, unpenetrated except 
by hunters and herders. We refer to the great Smoky moun- 
tain chain and its southward spurs. The valley of the Tucka- 
sege is not wide but embraces many valuable farms. There is 
nothing like a continuous stretch of bottom along its affluents. 
The Little Tennessee is bordered at places by wide and fertile 
alluvions. Swain county has the conditions of soil and climate 
requisite to the production of the very best quality of gold leaf 
tobacco. Having mild winters, the fertile slopes of the Cowee 
and Smoky ranges might be reduced to valuable pastures. 

The valley of the Tennessee and its branches placed Macon 
first of the counties west of the Balsam range in population and 
wealth. With the assistance of its valuable mineral deposits, it 
will probably be able to maintain its position. Above Franklin 
wide bottoms stretch from both sides of the Little Tennessee, 
exposing several thousand acres of level surface, with a soil of 
gravel and vegetable loam, washed from the neighboring slopes 
and higher altitudes of Northern Georgia. The ascent of the 
Cullasaja to the crest of the Blue Ridge is very gradual until an 
undulating plateau of several miles length and varying width is 
reached. On this plateau is the village and settlement of High- 



Character of Wild Range. 189 

lands. If you reach it from Franklin, and doubt that you are 
on the top of a mountain range 3,700 feet high, express your- 
self to any resident and in fifteen minutes he will have you 
looking over a precipice of 1,100 feet, while far below you in 
the blue distance waves the upper plain of South Carolina. 
The climate of the Macon highlands is cool and bracing. The 
showers, which are at all seasons numerous, are, however, 
warm, the clouds coming from the heated low lands farther 
south. Wheat and oats produce well, and corn yields a fair 
harvest. But the most promising hope of this section, agricul- 
turally speaking, lies in dairying and stock raising. Land is 
cheap, and both indigenous and cultivated grasses grow luxuri- 
antly. 

At Franklin the traveler will certainly hear of the Ellijay, 
whose valley is a competing candidate for admiration, with the 
princely peaks which hide it in their evening shadows. There 
are some substantial improvements in the valley of Burning- 
town creek The best wild range, in Macon county, is in the 
Nantihala mountains. I was shown a five-year-old horse which 
was born in the mountains, and had "never received a mouth- 
ful of grain or cured roughness." Many farmers leave their 
cattle out to range all winter. Sheep raising would be profit- 
able, if carried on extensively enough to afford the employment 
of a shepherd. It must not be inferred, from what has been 
repeatedly said of wild range, grazing, and stock-raising, that 
the mountain slopes, which comprise two-thirds of the surface 
of the intermontane country, are covered with a sod of indige- 
nous grasses. They are rather marked by the absence of 
grasses, as all deep -shaded forests are. It is on the treeless 
tops that cattle subsist and fatten, the tufts under the trees 
being only occasional, except where a fallen tree or cliff has 
made an opening for heat and light to enter There are among 



190 



Natural Resources. 



the trees, however, abundance of herbs and shrubs upon which 
sheep and goats would subsist. 

Of Clay, Graham, and Cherokee counties, little need be said. 
All the trans-Balsam counties bear a general family likeness. 
The valley of the Cheowah, near Robbinsville, is the most at- 
tractive part of Graham. The valley of Hiawassee, with its 
tributaries, Nottelley and Valley river, belongs to the sixth 
natural division of Western North Carolina. There is, in both 
Cherokee and Clay counties, a large percentage of level land. 
Speculators have invested largely in the former, mainly on 
account of the iron and marble deposits which He exposed. 

Taken altogether, the best results, agriculturally, are to be 
obtained from the cultivation of the grasses, vegetables, and 
tobacco. The cereals can never be produced with profit be- 
yond the narrow limit of home demand. 

The subject of horticulture is, in North Carolina, an import- 
ant one. Vegetables, grains, and grasses, of the same variety, 
flourish in a wide range of territory, but fruits are tender 
darlings of climate. In regard to temperature, the heart of the 
Alleghanies is a peninsula of the northern north temperate 
zone projecting into the southern. While this fact has been 
known, and its advantages appreciated for more than half a 
century, there has been inexplicable tardiness in utilizing it. 
How much longer will the great South continue to buy, in the 
markets of the North, what can be produced more cheaply and 
of better quality in her own highland valleys ? The piedmont 
region is adapted to a great variety of semi-temperate fruits. 
The persimmon, grape, plum, and thorned berries, are found, 
wild, abundantly everywhere. We know of no instance in 
which the cultivated varieties of these fruits have failed, when 
properly planted and attended. The peaches raised in the 
shade of the Blue Ridge are of unexcelled flavor. They will 
stand comparison with the best Delaware productions. Apples 



The "No-Frost" Zone. 191 

and pears may be classed among the piedmont fruits, but the 
former are of better flavor on the higher altitudes. Grapes 
grow large and mature thoroughly in the cool dry month of 
September. The vines seem large and healthy. 

It is only in the lower valleys that peaches of good size and 
flavor can be raised. The plumb, that most difficult of all 
fruits to protect from destruction by insects, grows on the 
slopes to full ripeness. Experiment with cultivated grapes 
has been limited, but the luxuriance and variety of the wild 
vines, indicate a soil and climate favorable to this industry. 
The nativity of the Catawba is traced to this highland region, 
and is still found, side by side with the fox and blue wine grape. 
There is nothing more beautiful in rural scenery, than these 
luxuriant vines, winding and entwining among the branches of 
a spreading tree, until they have completely smothered it in 
their tendril grasp. 

The apple finds a congenial home among these southern 
mountains. In flavor, and perfection of development, this 
fruit will compare with the choicest production of Michigan. 
The trees grow large and healthy ; there are fewer, than in 
most sections, of those destructive insects which burrow the 
wood and sting the fruit. The winters are never cold enough 
to freeze the buds, and frost need not be looked for after the 
blossoming season, making the crop much more reliable than 
at the North. Abundance of moisture gives the fruit full size, 
and the autumns being cool and long, the ripening process is 
slow and natural. The whole mountain country is adapted to 
apple orchards. At present, the upper French Broad valley 
— Henderson and Transylvania — excel all other sections, both 
in quality and quantity. Tons of apples are annually wasted, 
which, if carried to the market at reasonable cost of transporta- 
tion, would furnish no inconsiderable revenue. 

Horticulturists are just beginning to appreciate the advant- 



192 



Natural Resources. 



ages of the thermal or "no frost" zone. It was Silas Mc- 
Dowell, of Macon county, who first called attention to the 
existence of certain belts along the southern slope of the Blue 
Ridge and projecting spurs, wherein the fall of frost was un- 
known, and the season more than a fortnight earlier in spring, and 
later in fall than the adjacent slope on either side. So marked 
is' the effect that a green band, in early spring, seems to be 
stretched across the side of the mountain. The line on both 
sides is clearly defined, and does not vary more than a few feet 
from year to year. The scientific bearings of this singular 
phenomenon are intelligently discussed by Mr. McDowell, in a 
paper published in the Smithsonian Reports in 1856. An ex- 
planation for the existence of such a belt is derived from a 
theoretical knowledge of the directions and commingling of air 
currents, determined by the conformation of the slope. 

Sections of this frostless zone are found on almost every spur 
of the main chain of the Blue Ridge from Catawba county to 
Georgia, the largest area in any unbroken tract being on the 
side of Tryon mountain in Polk county. Its economic value for 
fruit and vegetable culture is inestimable. Like conditions of 
climate exist nowhere on the continent. The season is as long 
as in Southern Georgia and South Carolina, while, on the other 
hand, the thermometer never ranges higher than in New York, 
Ohio or Michigan. These conditions, for grapes, pears, peaches 
and apples, are perfect. The climatic conditions with respect 
to moisture are favorable, and in some respects superior to fa- 
mous fruit growing districts. 

The forest growth of Western North Carolina is a subject in 
which there is at present a wide and growing interest. Of the 
territory west of the river Catawba, more than three-fourths is 
yet covered with the original forest. Almost every variety of 
hard wood, indigenous to the eastern part of the United States, 
is found on the piedmont plain, or on the mountain slopes. 



Timber. ■ 193 

Within a day's journey for an ox-team grow the steel-like per- 
simmon, the inelastic hemlock, and the impervious balsam fir. 
The trees in most localities are so thick as to form an impene- 
trable shade. Their size and quality depend mainly upon 
fertility and altitude. While there are poplars six feet in di- 
ameter, at the stump, and sixty feet to the first limb, cherries 
four feet stumpage, and walnuts eight, these are the exceptions, 
and the ones that become celebrated. The thousands upon 
which the operating lumberman must rely for his returns, are 
of profitable size, but not giants, as the uninitiated might infer 
from advertising circulars or occasional notices in the local 
newspapers. 

Yellow pine is found in the piedmont region in considerable 
size and quantity. The quality is inferior to the best southern 
pines, but it serves very well for most domestic purposes. 
White pine of superior grade and large trees are found in many 
of the mountain valleys, but its growth can not be said to be 
general The regions likely to become available, are in Madi- 
son county, Haywood and Swain. The largest white pines in 
the state are in the latter county on the banks of Larkie creek. 

Oaks, of almost every variety, abound everywhere. It is 
the boast of the state that nineteen of the twenty species of 
oak are found within her territory; at least fourteen are found 
west of the Catawba river. The common white oak, which is 
the most valuable, grows in every valley and cove lower than 
4,000 feet, and, in solidity and tenacity, is far superior to the 
growth of lower altitudes. The same is true of ash and hick- 
ory, which abound everywhere. The white hickory of the 
piedmont plains is being already purchased, and manufactured 
into spokes and handles. The white ash of the mountain val- 
leys has a fine grain and firm texture. The best growth may 
be looked for in the dark coves. North Carolina hickory com- 
mands a ready market, large quantities being consumed by the 



194 Natural Resources. 

export trade. The factory at Greensboro draws a large percent- 
age of its supplies from the western section. 

Black walnut, here, as elsewhere, was the first wood hunted 
out by speculators. But few trees remain within available 
reach of transportation east of the Blue Ridge, and those in 
the western counties which are yet standing, have been sold to 
speculators. More than twenty million feet of walnut timber 
have changed ownership since 1880. As fast as the railroad 
creeps through the valley toward its western terminus, . these 
princes of the forest are being reduced to lumber and shipped 
to northeastern markets. In quality, southern mountain wal- 
nut takes high rank ; in size, it compares with the trees of the 
flat-lands of the north. A tree was cut in Haywood county re- 
cently which measured over eight feet across the stump, and 
forty-seven to the first limb. Four feet stumpage is not an 
extraordinary size. 

The predominant growth of the mountains, both in the pied- 
mont and trans-Blue Ridge sections, is chestnut. On some 
ridges it is almost the exclusive growth, but occurs, in dimin- 
ished numbers, though increased size, in the dark coves. The 
great trees are of no value, except for rails, fire-wood, and 
charcoal ; the young and vigorous are of greater value as a cabi- 
net wood, and for house finishing. Tons of nuts fall to the 
ground annually. The mountain farmer, in fact, relies upon 
the chestnut as a staple food for his hogs. In addition to its 
uses, the chestnut tree is a factor in giving character to the 
landscape. Its creamy bloom blends beautifully with the mel- 
low pink of the kalmia, and brilliant scarlet of the rhododen- 
dron. 

Next to the chestnut in the glory of its bloom, comes the 
locust. This tree, as a scattered growth, may be found almost 
everywhere. It grows tall and symmetrical, and ranges in diam- 
eter from six inches to two feet. Locust is a valuable commer- 



Forests for the Manufacturer. 195 

cial wood. It is little effected by dampness or earth, and is 
consequently used for fence posts, and in ship-building exten- 
sively. It is also used in the manufacture of heavy wagons, for 
hubs. 

Poplars in the Southern Alleghanies attain great size and in 
symmetry of form excel all other trees. The use of its lumber 
are almost as varied as oak, and being somewhat scarcer, it com- 
mands a higher price in the market. It is found on almost 
every slope and in every valley. The poplar blossom contains 
more sugar than the bloom of any other forest tree. The bee 
keeper among the Alleghanies can always rely on well filled 
honey combs. 

Black birch is a wood just beginning to receive the attention 
of manufacturers, and the day is not far distant when it will 
take a high place among cabinet woods. The rapid consump- 
tion of walnut is warning far-seeing lumbermen to cast about 
for a substitute. Black gum and black birch seem to be the 
most available candidates. There are several varieties of birch, 
but none equals the product of the Southern Alleghanies in 
beauty of grain or richness of color. It is mainly a cove growth, 
and attains to workable size. Black gum is found, but only as 
isolated trees. 

Cherry, which of American woods for ornamental purposes, 
is second only to walnut, is found in some sections of the 
mountain regions in great abundance. The Smoky range, 
together with its projecting spurs from the Virginia line south, 
is noted for the size of its cherry forests. The vicinity of Roan 
mountain and the headwaters of the Ocona Lufta excel all 
other sections. The high coves of the Balsam range also con- 
tain large and valuable trees. 

Maple, linn, sycamore, cucumber, mulberry, sassafras, dog- 
wood, sourwood, gopher, and buckeye is a partial list of the 
remaining deciduous trees. 



I96 Natural Resources. 

Above all, enveloping the summits of the highest ranges in 
impenetrable shade, silent and somber, stand forests of balsam 
fir. The general character of these dense, dark thickets is 
described elsewhere. The wood itself remains briefly to be 
spoken of. The fir of the North Carolina Alleghanies differs 
from the species in the far north, both in the size of the tree 
and in the smoothness and density of the wood. It may be 
looked for in the three localities, each, however, embracing a 
large area of territory — the culmination of the Balsams at the 
corners of Haywood, Transylvania and Jackson ; on the great 
Smoky chain, and within the ellipse of the Blacks. The 
"female tree, " which is cone shaped and has limbs to the 
ground|, is worthless except for the resin of the blister drawn out 
by puncturing the bark at a certain season of the year, and used 
as the base of medicinal preparation. The "male tree" grows 
to a diameter of two feet, and has a straight, clear trunk to 
the length of thirty to sixty feet. The wood is straight, fine 
grained, firm, and unelastic. It is highly charged with acetic 
sap, which makes the green lumber very heavy. When dried 
it becomes light — lighter than white pine. In color it is as 
white as the paper on which this is printed, and the density 
and firmness of the grain makes it susceptible of high polish. 
The same structure renders it impervious to water. The writer 
was shown a churn made of balsam staves which had been in 
use for thirty years. The wood under the surface was not even 
stained. This wood has received no attention from wood man- 
ufacturers, but it may some time be valuable for ship-building, 
buckets, and for house-finishing. For the latter purpose it will 
rival in color and surface the world-famed satin wood of Cali- 
fornia. 

The arborescent kalmia and rhododendron, which grow along 
almost every mountain stream, have a practical use. The ivy and 
laurel, as they are locally called, attain, in some of the fertile coves, 



Minerals. I gy 

a diameter of three inches, and the roots are even larger. 
Their graceful crooks and turns and bulbous, burly roots, make 
them exceptionally fine timber for all kinds of rustic devices — 
fences, flower urns, chairs, etc. The wood can be worked only 
when green ; dried, it becomes as hard as bone. Its density, 
hardness, and mottled grain, make it a valuable wood for pipe 
bowls and knobs, also for light tool handles and shuttles. No 
use is made of these shrubs at present, except for rustic furni- 
ture. 

At present, Hickory manufactures more lumber than any 
other town in the state west of the Catawba. Highlands, on 
the Blue Ridge, probably deserves the second place, though 
the industry is only in its infancy. We have no hesitancy in 
saying that the forests in the western section are intrinsically 
more valuable than in the middle belt of North Carolina, or in 
any part of South Carolina. Five thousand square miles of 
area are awaiting enterprising dealers and manufacturers in 
wood. Capital, transportation inducements, and business 
capacity, aided by mechanical skill, are needed — three requisites 
to the development of a great industry, with which the region 
can be supplied only from abroad. 

Thus far this sketch has been written mainly from personal 
observation. We now come to a subject, however, in the treat- 
ment of which authorized publications and the investigations of 
other individuals must be relied upon. Our errors in what 
shall be said upon the subject of mineralogy will be errors of 
omission. There has never been anything like a systematic 
exploration of the Southern Alleghanies. This statement will 
surprise no one familiar with the country, for such a task would 
involve years of expensive labor, an investment which the 
state legislature has never shown an enthusiastic willingness 
to make. We might quote a page of axioms applicable to 
this subject. "What is worth doing, is worth doing well," 



198 Natural Resources. 

" The most economy is sometimes the greatest folly." But we 
forbear the repetition of platitudes. The state publications tell 
us, with well-founded pride, that North Carolina was the first 
government in America to order a geological survey. Can she, 
on that account, afford to be the last state to publish a full ex- 
position of her geological structure and mineral resources? Pri- 
vate enterprise, however, is annually adding to the stock of 
information, and gradually the general character of mineral de- 
posits is becoming known. We were told by many a hostess 
during our rambles that she "had kep' a powerful site of them 
rock-hunters." The mineral excitement was highest from 1872 
to 1875. Mr. King, in a paper published in Scribner's Monthly, 
descriptive of a trip through the mountains in 1874, says: 

"Wherever we went we found the 'rock ■hunters' had been ahead of us, and a halt by 
the wayside at noon would generally bring us to some denizen of the neighborhood who 
would say 'Good mornin', gentlemen; after rocks?' And then would produce from his 
pockets some specimens, which he was 'mighty certain he did'nt know the name of. ' 
Many a farmer had caught the then prevalent mica fever, and some had really found 
deposits of that valuable mineral which were worth thousands of dollars. There is no 
danger of over-estimating the mineral wealth of this mountain country; it is unbounded. 
There are stores of gold, silver, iron, copper, zinc, corundum, coal, alum, copperas, bar- 
ytes, and marl, which seem limitless. There are fine marble and limestone quarries, 
whose value was unsuspected, until the railroad pioneer unearthed it. The limestone 
belt of Cherokee county contains stores of marble, iron, and gold; Jackson county 
possesses a vast copper belt, and the iron beds of the Yeliow mountains are attracting 
much notice. The two most remarkable gold regions are in Cherokee and Jackson coun- 
ties. The valley river sands have been made in former times to yield handsomely, and 
now and then good washings have been found along its tributaries. The gold is found in 
various and superficial deposits in the same body of slates which carries limestone and 
iron. Before the war liberal arrangements had been made for mining in Cherokee, but 
since the struggle the works remain incomplete. It is supposed that the gold belt con- 
tinues southward across the country, as other mines are found in the edge of Georgia. 
The gold in Jackson county is obtained from washings along the southern slopes|of the Blue 
Ridge, near the mountains known as ' Hogback ' and ' Chimney Top, ' and Georgetown 
creek, one of the head streams of Toxaway, yielded several thousand dollars a few years 
ago. In this wild country, where the passes of the Blue Ridge rise precipitously eight 
hundred and a thousand feet, there lie great stores of gold. Overman, the metallurgist, 
unhesitatingly declares that he believes a second California lies hidden in these rocky 
walls. The monarch mountain 'Whiteside ' is also said to be rich in gold." 

We are of the opinion that Mr. King overestimated the value 



Early Exploring Expeditions. igg 

of the mineral deposits to which he has here referred, having 
been somewhat misled by the prevalent excitement of the time, 
though of course there is no telling what may be concealed in 
the hidden fissures of these mighty masses of uplifted granite. 
While it is not probable that a second California or Colorado 
exists in this section of the Alleghanies, there is sufficient evi- 
dence in the things seen, and the hope of things unseen, to 
stimulate the zeal of explorers and excite the cupidity of oper- 
ators. The value of minerals, already taken out, has passed 
the enumeration of thousands, and the surface of the iewel- 
field has not yet been marked out. About 160 minerals, simple 
and compound, have been found within the region of which 
this volume professes to treat. Many of them are extremely 
rare, some of them of great economic value. What we shall 
say in this connection, is for the information and interest of the 
general reader. The scientist will derive his information from 
the technical pages of special publications. But the explorer, 
who goes ahead of him, will do better service by opening the 
great book of nature, and exposing to the world its unknown 
treasures. 

There is written evidence that the followers of DeSoto made 
an exploring expedition into the Cherokee country, in search 
of gold. Whether or not they reached the mountains of North 
Carolina, is unknown. They were probably led to search for 
the metal in this locality, by the ornaments worn by the Indians, 
or information derived from them. Late in the last century, 
the Cherokees had preserved a tradition of a very valuable silver 
mine, in the Smoky mountains. They also found stones "of 
various colour and beautiful lustre, clear and very hard." 

About 1827, was the date of the gold excitement in Meck- 
lenburg county, from which it spread to, and both ways along, 
the Blue Ridge. The discovery of this metal in Burke county, 
was an accident. In a little valley at the foot of the South 



200 Naturat Resources. 

mountains, about twelve miles from Morganton, on the way to 
Rutherfordton, lived an old gentleman named Brindle. A 
traveler stopped at his house one night, and told the story of 
the discovery of gold in Mecklenburg, astonished the family, 
particularly by his account of its great value, and the char- 
acter of the metal. Mrs. Brindle, who had, in the meantime, 
been an attentive listener, finally interrupted: "I took a 
stone, powerful like that, from a chicken's crop yisterday. I 
'lowed it was so curious, I laid it up." She thereupon produced 
a piece, the size of a pea, of pure gold. The traveler, of 
course, was quick to see how the precious stone had got into 
the chicken's crop, and reasoned that there must be more where 
that one came from. 

The Brindletown mines, as the diggings in this locality have 
since been known, have yielded many thousands of dollars, 
obtained merely by washing the sand and gravel. Quartz, con- 
taining a very large percentage of gold, has been found in these 
south mountain spurs and valleys. The practical difficulty ex- 
perienced by miners, is the incontinuity of veins, for which even 
the richness of the gold deposit, where it is found, does not 
compensate. Upon the whole, at Brindletown, the best results 
have been obtained from washings of the drift deposits. Colonel 
Mills is, at present, the largest operator. The region includes 
a tract taking in the corners of McDowell, Burke, Rutherford, 
and Cleveland. Gold is found in the washings of the First 
Broad below Shelby ; in Polk, at Sandy Plains, Morrill's mills, 
Hungry river, Pacolet river, and other places. Rutherford 
county is rich in gold. Along the John's river, in Burke, there 
are prospects which are favorable to an extensive mining indus- 
try. The placers also follow Lower creek into Caldwell county, 
It occurs in placers and veins in Catawba, and in placers in 
Watauga, Ashe, and Alleghany. It must not be understood 
that mines are being operated everywhere gold is found. In 



The Gold Zone. 20 1 

fact, there are very few places where anything is being done, 
and the work at other places is carried on in a very primitive 
fashion. 

In the French Broad valley gold exists in placers and veins 
near the warm springs ; on Cane creek, and elsewhere in Bun- 
combe, and in placers on Boylston creek, in Transylvania. 
Further exploration of the upper French Broad valley will 
undoubtedly discover other localities. In the valley of the 
Little Tennessee, gold has been found near the Ocona Lufta 
river, and on Soco creek, in Swain county; at the head of the 
Tuckasege, in Jackson ; in the vicinity of Highlands, and on 
Briertown creek, in Macon ; and in Graham. Beyond the water- 
shed, in Jackson county, is a region rich in gold. In the Horse 
cove, or Sequilla valley, a few years ago, a hand could pan out two 
to five dollars per day. It has never been found or even looked 
for except in placers The zone runs across Cashier's valley 
into the Georgetown and Fairfield valleys. Its existence, in 
quartz veins, near Chimney Top mountain, is well established. 
The deposits in Georgetown valley have yielded more largely 
than any other locality in this region. The zone seems to pass 
around the southern base of Hogback mountain, thence across 
the Blue Ridge into Transylvania, making its appearance, as has 
been noted, on Boylston creek We are indebted to the Rev. 
C. D. Smith, of Franklin, for the following incident : 

Several years ago, in Hogback mountain, deposits of gold 
were discovered in a ravine, which were worked up to a spring 
pouring over the rocks. It was noticed that gold came up in 
the sands from the spring. In order to pan these daily deposits, 
a basin was formed, and rich yields resulted. However, the 
miners became impatient; and, naturally inferring that the 
source of the gold was a solid vein, they applied a heavy blast, 
which scattered the rocks, and provided an outlet for the water, 
for the spring with its gold ceased flowing. No vein was dis- 



202 Natural Resources. 

covereh. They "had killed the goose that laid the golden eggs." 
Mica has yielded more money to this mountain region than any 
other of her store of minerals. The zone follows almost the 
direction of die Blue Ridge. Productive mica veins are found 
only in granite dikes, and when the mica zone is spoken of the 
zone of these dikes is meant. There are exposures of mica 
outside the belt, but no productive mines have yet been found. 
Neither can all dikes be relied upon, for they may be filled with 
barren matter or the crystals may be too small for use. There 
seems to be a law of size which holds good throughout the 
vein, and by which proprietors are guided. Other dike depos- 
its, again, are all that could be desired in respect to size and 
quality but the mica is worthless, either because of imperfect 
crystalization making it gnarled and gummy, or it is spotted by 
magnetite, some of it in the form of very beautiful clusters of 
vines and ferns. It is a remarkable fact that the mica veins 
which have yielded the best returns bear evidences of ancient 
work. The Clarissa Buchanan mine, in Mitchell" the Ray 
mine, in Yancey ; and the Bowers mine, in Macon, were opera- 
ted by the much-speculated-about prehistoric race of mound- 
builders. Other mines, in each of the localities named, were 
operated. In some, as in the Ray mine, shafts were sunk deep 
into the feld-spar, and in others tunnels were run in, showing 
that the miners were men of some advancement in the arts. It 
is proved, by an examination of the dump-piles, that mica was 
the object of the search, and that only large and clear crystals 
were taken away. They worked only in fieldspar, probably 
having no^ools for removing anything but soft rock. Their 
work always stops when a granite ledge interferes with further 
progress. Little more is known of the use to which these peo- 
ple put mica, than of the people themselves. Many of the 
mounds in the North contain large sheets, over skeletons, from 
which it is inferred that it was used to cover the bodies of illus- 



The Mountains' Wealth of Mica. 203 

trious personages after interment, and that use" may account for 
the zeal with which it was sought. It has been inferred by- 
some archaeologists that it was used for mirrors and windows in 
their temples, which is not improbable, though there is little 
evidence to sustain the theory. 

Mica mining in Mitchell county has been attended with better 
results than in any other locality. The Sinkhole mine near 
Bakersville was nearly half a mile long, the crystals imbedded 
in kioline (decomposed feldspar) and the rubbish easily removed. 
Tons of mica were taken out of this mine. The Clarissa 
Buchanan mine has been worked to the depth of more than 
400 feet. In Yancey county the Ray mine, near Burnsville, has 
yielded more mica than any other in that locality. The fissure 
takes a zigzag course up the face of the mountain. The dike 
shows no signs of exhaustion, though for more than a decade 
of years its annual yield has been very large. There are depos- 
its of mica in Buncombe county, but all attempts to open profit- 
able mines have thus far been failures. There are several pros- 
pects in the south part of Haywood county. A promising 
mine was opened on Lickstone mountain, from which a large 
quantity of merchantable mica of fine quality has been taken. 
It is a granite dike about 100 feet wide and 100 yards long. It 
yielded some crystals which cut plates nine by twelve inches. 
It is owned jointly by W. F. Gleason and the Love estate. 
No work has been done on this mine for some time past, though 
practical miners still consider it a good property. 

Dike fissures in Jackson have encouraged explorations in 
that county. Several mines have been opened, and some good 
merchantable mica taken out. Operations, however, were soon 
abandoned. This fact is not conclusive evidence that even 
some of the openings might not make profitable mines under 
the management of a skillful and experienced operator. ' ' There 
is nothing certain beneath this sod. " 



204 Natural Resources. 

The zone passes from Jackson into Macon county, which is 
next to Mitchell in its wealth of mica. The Brooks mine, at 
the head of Cowee creek, was the first opened. It was ener- 
getically worked, and for a few years yielded satisfactory 
returns. Work has been done on more than a dozen openings 
in the county, and a merchantable product obtained from most 
of them. As is always to be expected, a very large percentage 
of these openings proved failures ; others were made failures by 
incapable management. Only one mine has stood a prolonged 
test of energetic work — the Bowers mill, on Burningtown creek. 
The proprietor and superintendent, Charles Bowers, is of the 
third generation, in direct line, of mica miners, and conse- 
quently has the advantage not only of a long personal experi- 
ence, but also the communicated experience of his father and 
grandfather in the mines of New Hampshire. Mr. Bowers has 
been working on the same dike for about eight years. It is 
200 yards long and 12 feet wide, with a central granite vein 
about two feet thick. It cuts an east and west spur of the 
ridge transversely, and dips at an angle of ten degrees from a 
vertical line. It has been worked to the depth of 250 feet, and 
a shaft sunk 50 feet deeper. The quantity of mica and charac- 
ter of crystallization is unchanged at that depth. There are 
several good prospects in Macon, which remain untouched, be- 
cause the owners, who know nothing about mining, are unwil- 
ling to offer inducements, the prospect being held at a price as 
high as a workable mine would command. An incident to the 
point is told of a Jackson county man who had found a few 
crystals of glass, and imagined himself a rich man. A miner 
one day examined his prospects, and found every indication 
against the probability of it being a workable deposit. He 
made up his mind, however, to have some fun for his pains 
and, very seriously, without giving an opinion of the prospect, 
asked the proprietor of the land, who was happy in the imag- 



The Corundum Mines. 205 

ined possession of a competency, what he would sell the mine 
for. The miner's manner and question raised the owner's con- 
fidence still higher. "I jist reckon," he replied, "I don't want 
ter git shet of thet thar place. There's a fortune thar fur me 
an' my chil'ern arter me, an' you furners haint goin' to git hit." 
Corundum is a crystaline mineral of varying color, and next 
in hardness to the diamond. It is, consequently, a valuable 
abrasive, and its use, in the mechanical arts, for that purpose is 
increasing. It occurs, usually, associated with chrysolite. There 
is a zone of chrysolite dikes extending from Mitchell county to 
Union county, Georgia, in which, at various places, corundum 
has been struck, but not generally in sufficient quantity to pay 
for mining. Specimens have been found in Mitchell, Yancey, 
Buncombe, Madison, and Haywood counties. In Jackson 
there are several good prospects, but no mines have been opened. 
The localities are Scott's creek, Webster, and Hogback moun- 
tain. Macon is the only county in which this mineral has been 
practically and profitably mined. Specimens have been found 
at various places, but the largest exposure, and the only mine 
of importance, is at what is known as Corundum hill, near the 
Cullasaja river, about 10 miles from Franklin. Here was the 
first discovery of the mineral west of the French Broad. The 
mine, which is owned by Dr. Lucas, is not being worked at 
present ; it is said, on account of inconvenience of transporta- 
tion. The outcrop covers 25 acres. The chrysolite zone makes 
a bend in crossing the Tennessee valley, and seems to disappear 
until the Nantihala mountains have been reached, beyond which, 
on Buck creek, in Clay county, it reappears, and forms the 
largest mass of chrysolite rock in the United States, the area 
covered being over 1,400 acres, over all of which corundum has 
been found, some masses weighing as much as 600 pounds. 
There are other outcrops in Clay, which are no doubt very rich 
in corundum. Specimens have been obtained in the Hiawassee 



\ 



206 Natural Resources. 

valley. Some garnets of very rich color have been found, 
associated with corundum ; a ruby is said to have been obtained 
in Madison county, and Mr. Smith entertains the hope that 
sapphire may yet'be discovered. Specimens of corundum, asso- 
ciated with amethyst and garnet, have been found in McDowell, 
Burke, and Rutherford counties. 

Chrome ores are found in several of the counties west of the 
Blue Ridge and in the piedmont belt. It probably exists in 
all of them. 

There are large deposits of iron ores in several localities, 
which will, when developed, be of great economic value. The 
prevailing varieties are magnetite and hematite. The former is 
the technical name for magnetic ore, gray ore, and black band ; 
the latter for specular ore, red ore, etc. 

There is a vein of ore, of good quality, stretching from 
King's mountain, on the South Carolina line, to Anderson's 
mountain, in Catawba county. It consists of two parallel veins, 
of variable width ; is of a shaly character and mostly magnetic. 
It was reduced in forges and bloomeries as early as the revolu- 
tion, and during the late war, forges were erected and tons of 
iron manufactured. Southwest of Newton, iron of a superior 
quality is found, being remarkable for its malleability and 
toughness. During the war it was wrought in bloomeries and 
manufactured into spikes, cannon, and shafts for the iron-clads. 

There are many valuable beds of limonite or brown ore, ex- 
tending in a zone from the northeastern foot-hills of the South 
mountains, into the Brushy mountains. A bed near the town 
of Hickory is reported to be five or six feet thick; ten miles 
west are pits from which ore was obtained during the war, and 
six miles away ores were smelted thirty years ago. These pits 
are now all filled up, but it is hoped that the growth of manu- 
facturing will stimulate industry in the iron business. There 
are large quantities of ore in Caldwell county, and this zone 



Remarkable Iron Deposits. 207 

extends into Alexander. There are several beds along the 
Yadkin river. 

Beds of limonite exist in the Linville range, in workable 
quantities, but it makes an inferior metal unless mixed with 
hematite or magnetite, which is found not far away. There is 
an exposure of hematite one mile west of Swanannoa gap, in 
Buncombe, which gives to Ore mountain its name. 

The Cranberry ore bank in Mitchell, is pronounced by Pro- 
fessor Kerr "one of the most remarkable iron deposits in 
America." Its location is on the western slope of Iron moun- 
tain, in the northwest part of the county, about three miles 
from the Tennesee line. It takes the name Cranberry from the 
creek which flows near the outcrop at the foot of the moun- 
tain. The surrounding and associated rocks are gneisses and 
gneissoids, hornblende, slate, and syenite. The ore is a pure, 
massive, and coarse granular magnetite. The steep slope of 
the mountain and ridges, which the bed occupies, are covered 
with blocks of ore, some weighing hundreds of pounds, and at 
places bare, vertical walls of massive ore, 10 to 15 feet thick, 
are exposed, and over several acres the solid ore is found every- 
where near the surface. The length of the outcrop is 1500 
feet, and the width, 200 to 800 feet. (State Geological Report). 

This ore has been quarried and used in country forges for 
half a century, which, alone, evidences remarkable purity. 
Several analyses have been made by Dr. Genth, which show 
upwards of 90 per cent, of magnetic oxide of iron, and about 
65 per cent, of metallic iron. There is not even a piece of 
sulphur, which is the dread of iron workers. The completion 
of branch railroad has brought this ore into the market. 
Professor Kerr affirms that it excels in quality the deposits in 
Missouri and Michigan. 

Outcrops of magnetic ore extend along the Iron mountains 
as far as Big Rock creek, at the foot of the Roan. These de- 



208 Natural Resources. 

posits are now attracting more attention than ever before, and 
will, at an early date, become the basis of a great industry. 

There are ore deposits along the North fork of New river, 
which resemble those of the Cranberry bank. There are other 
localities in Ashe, and also in Watauga, which show outcrops 
of promise. 

Magnetite is found on the head of Ivy, in Madison county. 
There are several surface exposures of a good quality of ore. 
The extent of present explorations does not justify any predic- 
tions with regard to this deposit. There is also a bed of ore 
near the public road which leads from Asheville to Burnsville. 
It is hard, black, and of resinous luster. On Bear creek, near 
Marshall, and on Big Laurel are exposures of magnetite. There 
is another exposure about three miles from Alexander's station. 
About five miles west of Asheville is a bed of limonite several 
feet thick. 

A bold outcrop of magnetic ore is found in the northeastern 
part of Haywood county. Surface indications are flattering. 
The deposits of Jackson and Macon counties are encouraging 
explorations, but have never been developed. 

Last, but greatest in importance, are the ores of Cherokee. 

The region of the Valley river seems to be the culmination 
of the mineral wealth of the Alleghanies. Gold, silver, mar- 
ble, limestone, and sandstone are associated with massive beds 
of brown ore, which yields an iron already celebrated for its 
malleability and strength. The breadth of the iron and marble 
range is from two to more than three miles, and occupies the 
bottom of a trough which has been scooped out by the streams. 
The direct valley range is about 24 miles in length, and there 
is a branch more than six miles long, which follows Peach Tree 
and Brasstown creeks, making the whole iron range upwards of 
30 miles. The ores were used in forges by the Indians, and 



Copper, Lead, Tin, and Silver. 209 

have always since been used by the country blacksmiths in pref- 
erence to the manufactured iron. 

Little attention has been given to the copper deposits of 
Jackson and Haywood counties since the war though there can 
be little doubt of the existence of ores in workable quantities. 
The copper belt in Jackson occupies the middle portion of the 
county, from the head-waters of Tuckasege river northward to 
Scott's creek and Savannah creek. Good specimens have been 
found in a great many places, but mines have been opened only 
on Waryhut, Cullowhee, and Savannah creeks. At each of 
these several mines the vein is about eight feet thick. Its asso- 
ciated rocks are syenitic. There is a belt running across the 
north part of Haywood county with outcrops in the spurs of 
the Balsam range. 

There is in Ashe and Alleghany a copper producing district 
of importance. Elk knob and Ore knob, Peach bottom, Gap 
creek and other localities contain stores of copper. The works 
at Ore knob are the largest in the Alleghanies, and the deposit 
of ore in quantity and quality is said to rival the Lake Supe- 
rior region. 

Lead, tin, and silver are found in various localities, but as 
no mines have ever been opened, nor satisfactory results ob- 
tained from the meager explorations which have been made up 
to this time, we leave the subject without discussion. 
/"The rarest of the rare gems is the diamond, a very few spec- 
imens of which have been found. The first stone identified was 
discovered at Brindletown, in Burke county, in 1843. It was 
an octahedron, valued at one hundred dollars. A second was 
soon after found in the same neighborhood. The third was dis- 
covered in Twitty's mine, in Rutherford county, in 1846, and 
was first identified by General Clingman, of Asheville. Cot- 
tage Home, in Lincoln county, and Muddy creek, in McDow- 
ell, have each furnished specimens. 



2 io • Natural Resources. 

Garnet is found in the Southern Alleghanies, both as massive 
crystaline rock and individual crystals, rich in color and brill- 
iant. Some valuable gems of a brownish red color have been 
taken from the mica and corundum mines of Mitchell, Yancey, 
and Macon counties. On account of richness and beautiful play 
of colors, the crystals of Burke, Caldwell, and Catawba coun- 
ties are excellent material from which to cut gems. The best 
locality is about eight miles southeast of Morganton, where 
there are blocks almost transparent, weighing io pounds. 
About four miles from Marshall, in Madison county, is a local- 
ity rich in garnets. The writer has seen beautiful specimens 
picked up from the ballasting of the railroad. A few specimens 
of amethyst have been found associated with garnet. 

It will be impossible to discuss all the minerals of Western 
North Carolina, or even all those of common commercial value. 
The interest of io years ago had in some measure died out on 
account of the apparent failure of all the railroad projects. It 
matters little of how great intrinsic value the resources of any 
section may be; their actual value will be insignificant unless by 
rapid and cheap transit they can be made a part of the great 
world. The flesh and rose colored marbles of Cherokee and 
the Nantihala are worth no more now than common granite, 
but carried to the great markets where art is cultivated and 
beauty appreciated, they will command tempting prices. The 
prospect of an early completion of through lines of railroad 
and the actual completion of the greater portion of the Western 
North Carolina system, has given new stimulus to the investiga- 
tion of hidden resources, and is bringing in the skill and capital 
necessary to their economical development. 



HISTORICAL RESUME. 



There is much in the rare we spring from affecting both the individual and the commu- 
nity. The physical and mental traits we derive from our ancestors, are not more marked 
and important in directing our destinies than are the prejudices, aspirations and traditions 
we drink in from childhood. No profound observers of human nature will ever estimate 
the conduct or capacities of a people without first looking at their genealogical table and 
noting the blood which flows in their veins. — [Senator Vance. 

•¥(F|£HIS observation is illustrated by the character of the settle- 
^|^ merits of both the Carolinas. Most of the first immi- 
grants to the coast country of South Carolina were English capi- 
talists, who purchased large plantations. The coast country of 
the north State drew its population from Virginia and from Bar- 
badoes. The whole east line of settlement was English. Large 
plantations and numerous slaves were acquired, and the inhab- 
itants after the second generation lived in comparative ease and 
luxury. Those of the south were particularly devoted to the 
cultivation of manners and mind, a. degree of excellence being 
eventually attained, which has never been equalled elsewhere 
on the continent. 

The emigrants to the plains beyond the line of terraces and 
hills were of entirely different stock, character, and situation in 

213 



214 Historical Resume. 

life. They belonged to that sturdy race, now so widely dis- 
tributed over the whole country, which is known in history as 
Scotch-Irish. Their ancestors were of pure Scotch blood, but 
lived in the north of Ireland, whence they emigrated to 
America, landing at New York, Baltimore, and other northern 
ports. The first arrivals found home near the eastern base of 
the Alleghanies in Pennsylvania, but being annually joined by 
new immigrants of their own blood and fatherland, the best lands 
were soon filled to overflowing. The tide of immigration still 
continued, but an outlet was found toward the south, through 
which it swept along the entire base of the mountains into the 
inviting valleys of Carolina, and eventually crossed them into 
Georgia. There is to the present day marked homogeneity of 
character within this belt, from Pennsylvania to Virginia south- 
ward. Scattered families of other nationalities followed into 
the wilderness, but so largely did the Scotch-Irish prevail over 
all other races that the amalgamation of blood which followed 
brought about no perceptible change. 

A long period elapsed from the time emigration from the 
north of Ireland began until the Pennsylvania and Virginia 
plains had been filled; and the Yadkin, in North Carolina, was 
reached near the middle of the last century. So strong was the 
opposition, natural and human, encountered at every point, that 
only dauntless courage and determined spirit was able to over- 
come it. A wilderness had to be reduced in the face of a cruel 
and cunning foe. Being poor, they purchased small farms, and 
the number of their slaves was never large. Unlike the planta- 
tion lords of the South State coast, they devoted themselves to 
rigorous labor, the number being few who had time to devote 
to the cultivation of manners, or to pleasure, and fewer still 
had the financial ability to educate their children. 

Between 1750, the date of the first settlement on the upper 
Yadkin, and the Revolution, a period of 25 years, the best 



Daniel Boone. 215 

lands were occupied to the base of the Blue Ridge. Even that 
barrier was scaled, and the germs of civilized industry planted 
along the Holston before 1770. 

A character of the times, typical of a class of early settlers, 
was the famous Daniel Boone, whose life is the inspiration and 
light of western annals. Being but a lad, when his father re- 
moved from Pennsylvania, and settled on the Yadkin in 1754, 
the wildness and beauty of his new home made him a recluse 
of nature. In early youth he became a hunter, a trapper, and 
fighter of Indians. When the country around him filled up, 
he left his home and plunged again into the depths of. the 
wilderness beyond the mountains. After a period, crowded 
with blood-chilling adventures in Kentucky, he returned to his 
old home, but the growth of settlement had deprived it of its 
romance. He again crossed the Blue Ridge and pitched his 
camp in the Watauga plateau. There is a curious old church 
record in existence, which shows that he cursed " with profane 
oaths " a fellow Baptist for building a cabin within ten miles of 
his. His ideal of complete happiness was to be alone in a 
boundless wilderness. He once said : " I am richer than the 
man mentioned in Scripture who owned the cattle on a thousand 
hills. I own the wild beasts in more than a thousand valleys.'' 
He expired at a deer stand, with rifle in hand, in the year 181 8. 
It was of him that Byron wrote : / 

' 'Crime came not near him, she is not the child 
Of solitude. Health shrank not from him, for 
Her home is in the rarely trodden wild." 

The class of settlers of which Boone is mentioned as a type, 
is not large ; but it was the class, to paraphrase a line of Scott, 
which dared to face the Indian in his den. They were hunters 
of wild animals and wild men. But there was a larger class, 
the equal in sturdiness of the former, and though less romantic 
in conduct, entitled to recognition by posterity. They were 



216 Historical Resume. 

the men who cleared farms and built up houses and towns. In 
the valleys of the Yadkin and Catawba, is found a large per- 
centage of population of German descent, which is the source 
of the German blood found in the western counties. Not far 
behind the Scotch-Irish pioneers, by the same route, came the 
astute hard-working ancestors of this class of citizens. Many 
were scattered through Virginia, and some drifted even beyond 
the line of the old North State. The least mixture of blood is 
found in the valley of the Catawba. It is a mongrel German, 
known in the North as " Pennsylvania Dutch." The traveller 
from central Pennsylvania will frequently forget, while in the 
Catawba valley, that he is away from home. Governor Vance, 
whose long political career has familiarized him with all sections 
of the state, declares that in agriculture, as a general rule, they 
have excelled all other classes, especially in thrift, economy, and 
the art of preserving their lands from sterility. "To this day 
there is less of that desolation, known in the South as ' old 
field,' to be seen among the lands of their descendants, than 
amongst any others of our people. . . A sturdier race of 
upright citizens is not to be found in this or any other state. 
Their steady progress in wealth and education, is one of their 
characteristics, and their enduring patience and unflinching 
patriotism, tested by many severe trials, proclaim them worthy 
of the great sires from whom they sprang." Like their kin in 
Pennsylvania, and scattered over other states, west and south, 
"they are Lutheran in religion and Democratic in politics, and 
they are as steadfast as the hills in each." 

The Scotch and Germans of the upper plains and valleys, 
from which the trans-montane counties drew the bulk of their 
population, exist in the rural districts unmixed. There has 
been, until very recently, little immigration since the opening 
up of the great West soon after the Revolution, the growth of 
population being almost wholly a natural increase. It is further 



Patriots atld Tones. 



217 



a fact, to the disadvantage of this community, as a similar con- 
dition of things is to all other old communities, that many of 
the most enterprising children of each generation leave their 
homes for fields of industry in new sections. Conservatism in 
the old community is an inevitable result. The western section 
of North Carolina is a conspicuous example. The same states- 
man, whom we have already quoted, a native there, has said : 

" A very marked conservatism pervades all classes of North Carolinians. Attachment 
to old forms and institutions seems to be deeply implanted in them, as a part of their 
religion. They almost equal the conservatism of Sydney Smith's man, who refused to 
look at the new moon, so great was his regard for the old. .... North 
Carolina was, I believe, the last state in the Union to abolish property representation and 
suffrage in her legislature. The name of the lower branch, house of commons, was only 
changed in 1868. John Doe and Richard Roe died a violent death and departed our 
courts at the hands of the carpet-bag invasion the same year. This horde, also, with 
the most extraordinary perversion of its possible uses, unanimously deposed the whipping- 
post as a relic of barbarism, to which our people had clung as the great conservator of 
their goods and chattels." 

The present generation of Highlanders may be proud of the 
revolutionary record of their ancestors, though there were 
among them numerous tories, the proportion being one King 
George man to four revolutionists. Representatives from the 
west are found among the signers of the Mecklenburg declara- 
tion of independence in 1775, and by subsequent conduct they 
proved their enthusiasm in the cause of liberty. Their chief 
peril was to be apprehended from tory brigands and the Chero- 
kees, incited to blood and cruelty by British agents. The dan- 
ger was greatest in the summer of 1780, after Lord Cornwallis 
had made his victorious raid through the South. The liberty 
men were disheartened, and not a few went over to the tory 
militia, of which Colonel Patrick Moore appeared as the com- 
mander in North Carolina. He published both inducements 
and threats, as a means of increasing his forces, and was meet- 
ing with a degree of success dangerous to the patriot cause, 
when three companies of old Indian-fighters, under command 



218 Historical Resume. 

of Colonels , Shelby, McDowell, and Sevier, attacked him, with 
successful results. This was a small event in itself, but it en- 
couraged the liberty party, and showed the British commander 
that there was a force in the scattered settlements of the moun- 
tain foot-hills which he had reason to fear. 

Colonel Ferguson, with a nucleus of ioo regulars, had col- 
lected a band of 1,200 native Tories, from the foot of the moun- 
tains, in South Carolina. His progress northward was 
" marked with blood, and lighted up with conflagration." For 
this reason he was selected to operate against the western set- 
tlements of North Carolina. 

The mountain men made one dashing and successful on- 
slaught on his advancing divisions, and then retired to the 
mountain fastnesses, for consultation and organization. Fergu- 
son pursued as far as Rutherfordton (then Gilbert town), whence 
he dispatched a messenger to the patriots with the threat that 
if they did not lay down their arms he would burn their houses^ 
lay waste their country, and hang their leaders. 

This cruel threat aroused the settlers adjacent to the mountains, 
on both sides, and north, into Virginia. More men were will- 
ing to go to the field than it was prudent to have leave the set- 
tlements. Their fame as "center shots," with the rifle, was 
well known to the British regulars, who feared to meet them ; 
but the chivalric Ferguson was stimulated by this fact to greater 
watchfulness and exertion. 

Ramsey draws this picture of the Revolutionary forces . 

" The sparse settlements of the frontier had never before seen assembled a concourse 
of people so immense, and so evidently agitated by great excitement. The large mass of 
the assembly were volunteer liflemen, clad in the homespun of their wives and sisters, 
and wearing the hunting shirt of the back-woods soldiery, and not a few of them the 
moccasins of their own manufacture. A few of the officers were better dressed, but all 
in citizen's clothing. The mien of Campbell was stern, authoritative, and dignified. Shel- 
by was stern, taciturn, and determined; Seveir, vivacious, ardent, impulsive, and ener- 
getic; McDowell, moving about with the ease and dignity of a colonial magistrate, in- 
spiring veneration for his virtues, and an indignant sympathy for the wrongs of himself 



The Battle of King s Mountain. 219 

and co-exiles. All were completely wrapt in the absorbing subject of the Revolutionary 
struggle, then approaching its acme, and threatening the homes and families of the moun- 
taineers themselves. Never did mountain recess contain within it a loftier or more en- 
larged patriotism — never a cooler or more determined courage." 

Carrying their shot-pouches, powder-horns and blankets, they 
started from the Watauga, over Yellow mountain, to the head 
of the Catawba. Ferguson broke up his camp at Gilbert town 
(Rutherfordton), on the approach of the patriots. This was the 
most westward point he reached, in the execution of his threat 
to lay waste the country. The tories of his command quailed 
on the approach of so large a body of riflemen, and many of 
them deserted the royal standard. Ferguson dispatched for re- 
inforcement, and took his position on King's mountain, from 
which he declared " God Almighty could not drive him." 

After being in the saddle thirty hours, in a dashing rain, the 
patriots, on the afternoon of October 7, 1780, arrived at the 
foot of the mountain. This, one of the most historic spots in 
the South, is located on the North Carolina border in Cleveland 
county. The area of its summit is about 500 yards by seventy. 

The mountaineers approached the summit in divisions so as 
to make the attack from opposite sides simultaneously. The 
center reached the enemy first, and a furious and bloody fight 
was commenced. The royalists drove the attacking division 
down the mountain side, but were compelled to retreat by an 
onslaught from the end and opposite side. The battle became 
general all around, Ferguson's forces being huddled in the 
center. The mountain men aimed coolly, and shot fatally, giv- 
ing away before a fierce charge at one point, and charging with 
equal fierceness from another. The British commander, at 
length, gave up the idea of further resistance, but, determined 
not to surrender, made a desperate attempt to break through 
the lines. He fell in the charge with a mortal shot. A white 
flag asked for terms of capitulation; 225 royalists and 30 
patriots lay dead upon the field ; 700 prisoners were taken in 



220 Historical Resume. 

custody; 1,500 stand of arms captured, and a great many 
horses and other booty which had been taken from the settlers, 
restored to the rightful owners. More than all, the frontier was 
freed from the ravages of a merciless foe. 

The captured arms and booty was shouldered upon the pris- 
oners and taken to a point in Rutherford county, where a court 
martial was held. Thirty of the tories were sentenced to death 
for desertion and other crimes they had committed, but only 
nine were executed. One of these was Colonel Mills, a distin- 
guished leader. The remaining prisoners and captured arms 
were turned over to General Gates, commander of the Conti- 
nental army in the South. 

John Seveir, one of the leading spirits in the King's mountain 
affair, and commander of the transmontane militia, was a bril- 
liant, daring, dashing character ; the idol and leader of bold 
frontiersmen, who nicknamed him "Nollichucky Jack." The 
whole of Tennessee then belonged to North Carolina, but the 
settlers on the Holston were so far removed from the seat of 
government that, practically, they were without government. 
Seveir and his friends conceived the idea of organizing a new 
state, which, being in the nature of a measure for self-protec- 
tion, was unquestioned west of the mountains as a just and 
proper proceeding, but by the home government denounced as 
an insurrection. The new state was named Franklin, in honor 
of the Philadelphia philosopher and patriot. For four years 
there was civil contention, which, in one instance, resulted in 
contact of arms and bloodshed. After this the parent state 
adopted a radical policy for the restraint of her premature 
liberty-seeking child. "Nollichucky Jack," the governor of 
the insurrectionary state, was arrested for "high treason against 
the state of North Carolina," and taken to Morganton for trial." 

The prisoner's chivalric character and gallant military services, 
on the one hand, and the extraordinary nature of the indict- 



' ' Nollichucky Jack. " 22 1 

ment on the other, gave the trial momentous interest. The 
village streets were crowded with old soldiers and settlers from 
far and near, eager to catch a glimpse of the court. There 
were others there with different purposes. The chivalry of the 
infant settlement of Tennessee; the men who had suffered with 
the trials of frontier life and savage warfare, who had fought 
under him to establish their country's freedom, and who loved 
him as a brother, armed to the teeth, had followed the captive 
across the mountains, determined to " rescue him, or leave their 
bones." Their plan was to rescue him by stratagem, but if 
that failed, to fire the town, and in the excitement of the con- 
flagration make their escape. 

On the day of trial, two of the "Franks," as they were 
called, leaving their companions concealed near the town, and 
hiding reliable sidearms under their hunting shirts, rode up be- 
fore the court-house, one of them on "Governor " Seveir's fine 
race mare. He dismounted, and with the rein carelessly thrown 
over her neck, stood with the manner of an indifferent specta- 
tor. The companion having tied his horse, went into the 
court-room. Seveir's attention, by a slight gesture, was directed 
to the man outside. During a pause in the trial, the bold 
" Frank" stepped into the bar, and with decided manner and 
tone, addressed the judge: "Are you done with that there 
man ? ' The scene was so unusual, the manner and tone of the 
speaker so firm and dramatic, that both officers and audience 
were thrown into confusion. The " Governor " sprang like a 
fox from his cage, one leap took him to the door, and two more 
on his racer's back. The quick clash of hoofs gave notice of 
his escape. The silence of the bewildered court was broken 
by the exclamation of a waggish by-stander : " Yes, I'll be 
damned if you haint done with him." 

Seveir was joined by his neighbors with a wild shout, and 
they bore him safely to his home. No attempt was made to 



222 Historical Resume. 

re-arrest him. The State of Franklin died from various causes, 
and a few years later the new State of Tennesse honored " Nolli- 
chucky Jack " with the first governorship, and later, by an 
election to the United States Senate. 

Recall a picture of the mountain soldier a century ago, dur- 
ing the heroic or military period: a tall, athletic form, hardy 
appearance, noiseless step, and keen pair of eyes — attired in 
an upper garment of blue home-spun, fringed at the bottom, and 
belted with wampum ; deerskin leggins and buckskin moccasins, 
and armed with a large knife, tomahawk, and long rifle. This 
emblem of antiquity is now found only in museums. 

Before the close of the Revolution there was a well-beaten 
road from the Catawba to the Watauga, the path of travel from 
Carolina to the incipient states west of the Alleghanies. South 
of this, except by hunters and Indian traders, the passes of the 
Blue Ridge had not been crossed. The fame of the luxuriant 
highland valleys was widespread, however, when an extinguish- 
ment of the Indian title opened them up to the settler. 

It was a miscellaneous throng that filled the narrow roads 
leading from the head waters of the eastward streams, in search 
of homes and lands in the cool upper plateau. Ahead, on 
horse-back, was a far-seeing man of middle age, a member of 
the legislature, whose industry had rewarded him with a small 
fortune, with which he would purchase a fertile tract of wild 
land, and hold it for an advance of price. Slowly moving along 
behind was a boat-shaped, great covered wagon, drawn by four 
oxen. It contained the family and household goods of a man 
whose earthly possessions amounted to but a few dollars be- 
sides. Then followed the foot emigrants of a still poorer class, 
badly clad, and scantily fed. The man and woman and larger 
children carried upon their backs, an axe, a few agricultural 
tools, a couple of cooking pots, and a light bundle of bed cloth- 
ing. The man with the wagon would purchase a few hundred 



The Pioneers. 223 

acres of valley land, erect a cabin, such as may yet be seen any 
where in the rural districts, make a clearing, and eventually 
become a prosperous citizen. The foot emigrant, without ex- 
amining titles or running lines, built a hut where it suited him, 
deadened the trees on a few acres, which, cultivated with the 
hoe, yielded bread for his family. A flint-lock rifle, saved from 
the soldiering times, supplied meat and clothing. Neither the 
freehold settler nor the " squatter " was able to convert more 
than the hides of wild animals into money with which to make 
annual purchases of such supplies as could not be raised. The 
squatter had the advantage from a cash point of view over the 
land owner, for he had no taxes to pay, and more time to de- 
vote to the chase. Alive to this advantage he had no incen- 
tive to aspire to the ownership of property ; an indifference to 
worldly condition characterized his simple life, an indifference 
which his children and his children's children have inherited. 
It was different with the freeholder ) he knew of the luxury of 
low country civilization ; he had himself tasted the sweets of a 
substantial prosperity, and looked forward to their full enjoy- 
ment in his new home in the mountains. When times grew 
better he was able to purchase a few slaves, give his children an 
elementary education, and live in a comfortable house. From 
this class of the settler ancestry is descended the substantial 
element of the present generation of native mountaineers. 
They are famous business and professional men, who would be 
a credit to any community. They own nearly all the land, and 
inhabit the most inviting farms. Many of the wealthier land 
owners were not far behind the first settlers, and their posterity 
may be found in almost every county, some of them continuing 
to control large boundaries. 

The nucleus of settlement was on the French Broad, at the 
mouth of the Swannanoa. It was there that the first white 
child was born, in the inter-montane plateau — James M. Smith. 



224 Historical Resume. 

In the year 1795, a wagon passed from South Carolina, through 
Mill's gap, down the French Broad, to the prosperous settle- 
ments in Tennessee. Scores of emigrants, intending to go on 
to the West, were charmed by broad stretches of valley between 
the mountains, and went no further. The Indians frequently 
showed hostile intentions, but the occasion for alarm was never 
great enough to deflect the tide of settlement. The best lands 
on the French Broad and Pigeon were occupied by freeholders, 
and the smoke of squatters' cabins rose in almost every cove, 
before the Cherokee treaty of 18 19 opened up the valleys be- 
yond the Balsams, which were rapidly occupied by settlers 
mainly from the piedmont and trans-Blue Ridge regions. East 
Tennessee made slight contributions. The buying up of cove 
lands, by actual settlers, from speculators, or the state, began 
after the valleys were filled, and many small farms on mountain 
sides have been acquired by " undisturbed possession." 

The counties of Western North Carolina, in the year 1777, were all embraced in Burke, 
Wilkes, and Tryon. Ashe was carved off Wilkes, in 1799, and Alleghany off 
Ashe in 1859. Tryon, which bore the name of the most obnoxious of the colonial 
governors, was divided into Lincoln and Rutherford, in 1779, and the hated name ob- 
literated. Cleveland was cut from both these counties in 1841. Caldwell was taken from 
Burke in 1842, and McDowell was erected out of territory from Burke and Rutherford; 
and Catawba from territory from Lincoln, in the same year. Easton was carved off 
Lincoln in 1846. Buncombe was erected in 1791, out of territory previously embraced, 
partly in Rutherford, but mainly in Burke. It is the parent stem of all the trans-Blue 
Ridge counties, excepting Ashe and Alleghany. The first branch was Haywood, in 1808, 
from which Macon was taken, in 1828, and Jackson in 1850. From territory of both these 
Swain was made in.1871. Cherokee was cut off Macon in 1839. From its territory 
Clay was formed in 1861, and Graham in 1872. Henderson was cut off Buncombe in 
1838; Polk from Henderson and Rutherford in 1855; and Transylvania from Henderson 
and Jackson in 1861. Yancey was erected from Buncombe in 1833; Watauga from 
Yancey, Wilkes, Caldwell, and Ashe, in 1849. Madison was erected of territory from 
Buncombe in 1850; and Mitchell in 1861, from territory from Burke, McDowell, Cald- 
well, Watauga, and Yancey. 

Two elements, in the settlement and population of the moun- 
tain country, have not been considered in the foregoing pages. 
The one is, happily, well nigh extinct, the other is the main 
hope of the future. In early times, criminals and refugees from 



Early Enterprises. 225 

justice made the fastnesses of the wilderness hiding places. 
Their stay, in most cases, was short, seclusion furnishing their 
profession a barren field for operation. A few, however, re- 
mained, .either adopting the wild, free life of the chase, or prey- 
ng upon the property of the community. The latter occupa- 
tion has been entirely abandoned by their posterity. There 
was a time when it was unsafe to turn a good horse out to range 
on the grassy mountain tops, but that time is passed. There 
are communities in the mountains in which all the commands 
of the Decalogue are not punctiliously observed, but "Thou 
shalt not steal," is seldom violated. Cattle and horses pasture 
on every range, stables are everywhere without locks, houses 
are left open, and highway robbery is remembered only as a 
tradition of the past. 

By the element in the settlement referred to as the hope of 
the future, we mean those classes who have come for the pur- 
pose of engaging in business, andto establish summer homes, 
attracted by salubrity of climate and beauty of scenery. Rep- 
resentatives of the latter class have handsome estates at several 
places in the French Broad valley and along the Blue Ridge. 

Immigration for business purposes is just starting. The 
mineral deposits and the lumber stores are bringing in good 
citizens from abroad. With abundant resources, both of ma- 
terial and power, there is a wide field here for manufacturers. 
The native population has not husbanded the capital needed to 
start the ball rolling. Although settled for 100 years, Western 
North Carolina is a new country in many respects, but the day 
of its rapid development is near at hand. 

The great obstacle to development in the past has been the 
section's isolated position, an obstacle now almost removed. 
The building of a turnpike from South Carolina to Tennessee 
was justly regarded a great public improvement when it was 
completed in 1827, but during the last half century horses have 



226 Historical Resume. 

been too slow to carry on the world's work. General Hayne, 
of South Carolina, was one of the first projectors of a railroad 
through the mountains. It was to run from Charleston to 
Cincinnati, a line which there is good reason for believing will 
be pushed to completion at no distant day. The original pro- 
ject was given chartered form in 1835. 

The Western North Carolina road was also an early project, 
and is a part of the system of public improvements contem- 
plated by the state government. A charter was granted in 
185 5 . The state authorized the issue of bonds for three-fourths 
of the stock, the remaining one-fourth being subscribed by pri- 
vate individuals. R. C. Pearson was chosen president, and J. 
C. Turner engineer. It was the latter gentleman who first sur- 
veyed a route over the Blue Ridge via Swannanoa gap. The 
construction of this road reached to within five miles of Morgan- 
ton, when the war opened and all operations were stopped. 
After the war, under the successive administrations as president 
of A. M. Powell, S. M. D. Tate, and Major J. W. Wilson, 
work was continued. The latter gentleman, combining the 
office of engineer with that of president, took the first loco- 
motive around the coils and through the tunnels into the Swan- 
nanoa valley. The road was sold and passed under its present 
management, which is associated with the Richmond & Dan- 
ville company, in the spring of 1880. It has been completed 
to its junction with the E. T. V. & G. R. R., and is being pushed 
over and through the massive transverse chains of the plateau 
to its western terminus. The scenery along its lines is spoken 
of at various places in the following pages. The Blue Ridge 
has-been crossed by the Spartanburg & Asheville railroad, and 
there is good ground for hope that the Carolina Central will be 
extended from Shelby to Asheville at an early day. All these 
enterprises are necessarily expensive, and consequently show 



Military Reminiscences. 227 

the confidence which capitalists place in the future of the region 
whose resources will be opened up. 

On account of the secluded position of Western North Caro- 
lina, there is little to be said under the head of military remin- 
iscences. The mountain men, in the War of 18 12, shouldered 
their rifles and marched to distant climes, in defense of their 
country's honor. 

During the late struggle, this section escaped the desolation 
which the greater portion of the South suffered. Stoneman's 
Federal cavalry made a raid, after the " surrender " of Lee into 
the trans-Blue Ridge country. He passed by Hendersonville 
and Asheville, whence a Confederate fort had been erected. 
Dividing into small squads, his men pillaged the country as 
they went west. 

A dare-devil expedition was accomplished by the Federal 
raider Kirk, who, with his company of 325 East Tennesseeans, 
crossed the mountains, through Mitchell county into Burke, 
surprised a larger force of Confederates, and succeeded in captur- 
ing all their stores and taking the men prisoners of war. 

The mountain men were divided in sentiment and action dur- 
ing the war. Most of the property holders joined the Con- 
federate forces, while the poorer classes refused to volunteer, 
and, when conscripted into the service, deserted at the first op- 
portunity. There were exceptions, of course, with respect to 
both classes — some of the larger freeholders being Union men, 
and some of the poor people in the coves being enthusiastically 
loyal to the state. 

The Southern Alleghanies, though "the oldest in the world/' 
have not yet settled down to a state of absolute rest. Shocks 
and noises in several localities have frequently been felt and 
heard, much to the discomfort of inhabitants of the vicinity. 
There are reminiscences in the northern part of Haywood 
county of shocks as early as 1812, and from time to time ever 



228 Historical Resume. 

since. The restless mountain is in a spur of the New Found 
range, near the head of Fine's creek. General Clingman was 
the first to call public attention to it, which he did in an elabor- 
ate paper in 1848. There are cracks in the solid granite of 
which the ridge is composed, and towards its foot, chasms four 
feet wide, extending at places in all directions, like the radiating 
cracks made in a rock by a light blast of gunpowder. There 
are evidences of trees having been thrown violently down, and 
a trustworthy gentleman declares that a huge oak was split from 
root to top by the opening of a chasm under it. General 
Clingman says: 

" I observed a large poplar tree which had been split through its center so as to leave 
one-half of it standing 30 or 40 feet high. The crack or opening under it was not an 
inch wide, but could be traced for hundreds of yards, making it evident that there had 
been an opening wide enough to split the tree, and that then the sides of the chasm had 
returned to their original position without having split so as to prevent the contact of 
broken rocks." 

A great mass of granite was broken into fragments, and after 
one of these shocks every loose stone and piece of wood was 
moved from its original place. These jars, accompanied with 
noise, used to occur at intervals of two or three years, but 
none have been felt for some time. 

About the year 1829 occurred a violent earthquake, covering 
a limited area, in Cherokee county. One of the Valley River 
mountains was cleft open for several hundred yards, making a 
chasm which is still visible. 

Silas McDowell, a careful observer, late of Macon county, 
stated, in a paper, that there was a violent shock on the divide 
between Ellijay and Cullasaja many years ago. A chasm opened 
in the north side of the mountain, accompanied with crashing 
sounds. Satoola mountain, bounding the Highlands plateau, 
it has been stated, has crevices from which smoke issues at 
intervals. 

In Madison county there is a mountain which has been known 



First Scientific Explorations. 229 

to rumble and smoke. The warm springs are heated by vol- 
canic action, probably by hot gas from the earth's molten inte- 
rior, seeking an outlet through crevices in the rocks and coming 
in contact with underground water currents. 

The most famous of the restless mountains of North Car- 
olina is "Shaking Bald." The first shock, which occurred 
February 10, 1874, was followed in such quick succession by 
others, as to cause general alarm in the vicinity. This moun- 
tain for a time received national attention. Within six months 
more than 100 shocks were felt. 

The general facts of these terrestrial disturbances have never 
been disputed, but concerning their cause, there has been widely 
diversified speculation. Is there an upheaval or subsidence of 
the mountains gradually going on? Are they the effect of ex- 
plosions caused by the chemical action of minerals under the 
influence of electric currents ; are they the effect of gases 
forced through fissures in the rocks from the center of the 
earth, seeking an outlet at the surface? These are questions 
on which scientists differ. Be the cause what it may, there is 
no occasion to fear the eruption of an active volcano. 

The scientific exploration of the grand summit of the Alle- 
ghany system, was hinted at in the introduction, but on account 
of the great names associated with the subject it is worthy of 
fuller treatment. The extraordinary botanical resources of the 
mountains were first made known by one of the most distin- 
guished botanists of his day, Andre Michaux, who made a 
tour of the valleys and some of the heights in 1787. In 1802 
his son, an equally distinguished botanist, scaled the loftiest 
range. Both these naturalists reported having found trees and 
other specimens of alpine growth, that they had observed no- 
where else south of Canada. This was the first hint that the 
Black mountains were the highest summits east of the Rockies. 



230 Historical Resume. 

This judgment was based entirely upon the plant life of the 
region explored. 

It was from entirely different data that John C. Calhoun 
arrived at the same opinion in 1825. David L. Swain, after- 
wards governor and president of the State University, was then 
a member of the legislature from Buncombe, his native county. 
Calhoun was Vice-President of the United States. Meeting each 
other in Raleigh, the latter made a playful allusion to their 
height, saying that in that respect they were like General Wash- 
ington. "We can also," said the Vice-President, "congratu- 
late ourselves on another fact, that we live in the vicinity of the 
highest land east of the Rocky mountains." 

"The suggestion," says Governor Swain, "took me entirely 
by surprise, and I inquired whether the fact had been as- 
certained? He replied that it had not been by measurement, 
but a very slight examination of the map would satisfy me it 
was so." 

Dr. Elisha Mitchell, of the State University, five years later, 
concurred in the opinion of Vice-President Calhoun, and an- 
nounced to the Board of Public Improvements his intention to 
make a systematic geographical exploration. In the year 1835, 
with no other interest than that of contributing to scientific 
knowledge, he made the first barometrical measurements west 
of the Blue Ridge. With great labor and infinite patience he 
climbed the several peaks of the Blacks. In the language of a 
subsequent explorer: "At the time Dr. Mitchell gave his obser- 
vations with regard to the height of the Black mountain it was 
more inaccessible than now, by reason of the progress of the 
settlements around its base, so that he was liable to be misled, 
thwarted by unforeseen obstacles, in his efforts to reach particular 
parts of the chain, and when* he did attain some point at the 
top of the ridge, nature was too much exhausted to allow more 
than one observation as to the immediate locality." Any one 



The Tragedy of the Blacks. 231 

who has left the beaten path, and attempted to penetrate the 
tangled thickets of laurel on the slopes of the Black, will have 
some conception of the explorer's difficulty. 

Dr. Mitchell's report was the first authoritative announcement 
of the superior altitude of the highest southern summit to Mt. 
Washington. This report gave rise to much controversy among 
geographers, but its correctness was soon universally yielded. 

In 1844 Dr. Mitchell again visited the region, making observa- 
tions in the interest of both geology and geography, and to 
confirm his former measurements. About this time Hon. 
Thomas L. Clingman, then a member of Congress, and a man 
of scientific tastes, began to make observations in different sec- 
tions — the Balsams, Smokies, and Blacks. In the latter group 
he subsequently published that he had found a higher peak 
than the one measured by Professor Mitchell. In the contro- 
versy which followed, the fact of General Clingman having 
measured the highest point of ground was undisputed. The 
question was: Had Dr. Mitchell measured the same peak, or 
had he mistaken another for the highest, and ceased his inves- 
tigations without going to the top of the true dome? 

Admitting the possibility of having been mistaken, the Pro- 
fessor, in the summer vacation of 1857, embraced the first 
opportunity to review his measurements. Accompanied by 
his son, Charles Mitchell, he began at the railroad line to run a 
line of levels, that he might test the accuracy of his barometer. 
They reached the Mountain house, half way up the Black, at 
noon on Saturday, June 27th. Dismissing his son and assist- 
ant, the professor left, saying he intended to cross the range by 
the route he had gone in 1844, desiring to see the guide who at 
that time accompanied him. On Monday Charles Mitchell 
climbed to the place appointed to meet his father, but the day 
passed without his appearance. The next day passed. "He 
must have met with some accidental delay," was the consola- 



232 Historical Resume. 

tion. But another day's absence dispelled this hope. On 
Thursday morning the alarm was spread. Messengers were 
sent across the range to the valleys below. He had not reached 
the place for which he had started. Friday evening the report 
of his disappearance reached Asheville. From every direction 
came men of all grades and avocations in life. Following them 
came their wives and sisters, anxious to help in the search for 
the lost man's body in that wilderness of more than 100,000 
acres, whose funereal gloom conceals caverns and pitfalls into 
which the incautious traveler may disappear. 

At least 500 men were engaged in the search, which began 
on Friday, within one day of a week after the professor was 
last seen. It was Tuesday before the trace of human footsteps 
was discovered. Thomas Wilson, who had acted as the pro- 
fessors's guide, in 1844, in following the course they had then 
taken, distinguished a mark in the green turf, near the highest 
summit. Wilson declared it to be the summit they had both 
been on, and the professor had measured. The old hunter, 
followed by rugged mountaineers, hurried down a branch of 
Cane creek. The marks of the wanderer became plainer, as the 
ground became rougher. Down a splashing stream they fol- 
lowed for more than a mile, to a sheer waterfall of about forty 
feet. A broken laurel branch and torn moss told the story. 
Below in the circular pool fourteen feet deep, of crystal water, 
lay the body perfectly preserved. 

The place has been thus described : 

"The pure waters enveloped him in their winding sheet of crystal; the leaping cataract 
sang his requiem in that wondrous and eternal song, of which old ocean furnishes the 
grand, all comprehensive key. Cream and white flowers flaked the billowy thickets of the 
dark green laurel, and tall conical firs, delicately tapering spruces, interlocked their weep- 
ing branches, from shore to shore." 

Enveloping the body in a sheet, they carried it up the moun- 
tain to the summit, whence, at the request of the family, it was 
conveyed to Asheville for burial. A year later it was dis- 



A Happy People. . 233 

interred, re-carried, and amid a large concourse of people, 
deposited on the very pinnacle of the Appalachians. There 
rests the " Christian hero's dust." 

Since his death, Professor Mitchell's claim to the credit of 
having measured the peak which bears his name is admitted. 
He measured a great many other pinnacles, but owing to the 
imperfection -of his instruments and other causes, he was some- 
what inaccurate. The credit of having made the first extensive 
survey and accurate measurements, is due Arnold Guyot, pro- 
fessor of physical geography in Princeton college. He was 
assisted in his long and unremunerated task, covering three 
summer vacations, by General Clingman, M. E. Grand-Pierre, 
and E. Sandoz. Their survey was begun in the Blacks in 1856. 
Professor Guyot's report has been revised and completed by 
Dr. W. C. Kerr, the late state geologist of North Carolina. 

To Dr. Curtis, of the University, the state is indebted for an 
exposition of its botanical resources. He embodied in his col- 
lection and several reports, the researches of Professors Gray 
and Carey, who, as early as 1841, traversed the highest ranges. 
Had Dr. Curtis' labor been appreciated by the state govern- 
ment, North Carolina would have one of the best collections of 
botanical specimens in the country. 

We have now briefly sketched the settlement and leading inci- 
dents in the progress of this highland country. The reader has 
no doubt reached the conclusion that the mountaineers must be a 
happy people, for " their annals are tiresome." Should he visit 
the region, and stop in the homes scattered through the pictur- 
esque valleys, he will find the confirmation of that conclusion. 
If the inhabitants have little beyond the lavishments of nature 
to boast of, they have the compensating knowledge that they 
have little to be ashamed of Their race and blood has fur- 
nished to the country three of its Presidents — Jackson, Polk, 
and Johnson; but greater than any of these, of the same kin, 



234 Historical Resume. 

was that splendid specimen of statesmanship, John C. Calhoun, 
born in the sub-montane district of South Carolina. The same 
race has given to the gallery of frontier heroes, Daniel Boone, 
of the Yadkin, and David Crockett, of the Nollichucky. Old 
Buncombe itself has filled the governor's chair with two incum- 
bents, Swain and Vance; has given the State University a 
president, Swain ; and to the United States Senate two of the 
most useful representatives the state has ever had — Clingman 
and Vance. Of such ancestry, and of such representatives of 
its capacity for development, any section might be proud. Of 
the attention its natural features has received from the outside 
world, it has scarcely less reason for pride and congratulation. 



IN THE SADDLE. 



And the steed it shall be shod 
All in silver, housed in azure, 

And the niane shall swim the wind; 

And the hoofs along the sod 
Shall flash onward and keep measure 

Till the shepherds look behind. 

— Elisabeth Barrett Browning. 

•TJ^Y-HERE is something in a long ride on horseback that time 
<^j^ cannot obliterate. At its recollection one feels again the 
motion of the horse, and can well imagine the bridle-reins in 
his fingers. With these sensations come the cool breath of 
morning, the smooth stretches of road through sunlight and 
shadow, the rough trail by -wild, rushing waters, the vistas of 
rich meadows and fields, and the green and purple outlines of 
mountains. Such scenes become so impressed upon the mem- 
ory that one might well question with Byron : 

"Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part 
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? " 

This sketch is of a ride taken by the writer, through some 
of the most scenic sections of the mountains, Treating, as it 

237 



238 In the Saddle. 

does, of the country and people as they are, the tourist in 
quest for information, preparatory to a trip through the same 
region, need look no further than these pages. 

In the interest of my pocket, I hired a sound young horse, 
at thirty-three and a third cents per day. He was my, selection 
from several that could have been taken from the same class of 
people, at a schedule of prices ranging from twenty- five to fifty 
cents. If the tourist intends traveling for a month or more, 
the wisest plan is to buy a horse, and then sell at the finish. 
Money can be saved by this operation, unless being ignorant 
concerning horse flesh, he falls into the hands of an unscrupu- 
lous jockey. 

It was in August, and clear bright skies for a season were 
predicted by the weather prophets, when, early one morning, 
I mounted my steed before an Asheville hotel. In the saddle- 
bags for myself was an extra suit of blue flannel, two pairs of 
socks, a rubber coat, comb, and brush ; and for the horse two 
shoes and a paper of nails, to provide against losses which 
might occur twenty-five or more miles from where a horse-shoe 
could be procured. Country blacksmiths depend to a large 
extent upon their customers to furnish the materials for their 
work. 

There is a road that winds from the center of Asheville, on- 
ward down hill and up, by pleasant door-yards, white-washed, 
stone-wall fences, and trimmed groves, to the bridge over the 
Swannanoa river. Just beyond it,' a wide road, turning sharp 
toward the left, is the route to Hickory Nut gap, and the com- 
paratively level county of Rutherford beyond. 

From this point the road runs through pleasant valleys, by 
mills, small streams, dwellings, and under forests, for eight 
miles, to the base of the mountains, whereon is the opening of 
the noted gap — the gateway to the picturesque region of Broad 
river. On the summit of the pass a limited view can be had of 



Attempting an Interview. 239 

Buncombe county valley lands, dotted with cornfields, check- 
ered with forests and mountain-bounded. 

The road now begins to descend through beautiful sylvan 
scenes, combining all the gloom, luxuriance, wildness, and 
beauty of rocks, vines, pines, rhododendrons, crystal waters, 
dark ravines, and blue streaks of sky. 

Where the Broad river crosses the road with a wide sweep, I 
drew rein before a frame dwelling, whose scanty farm lands 
gave no promise of yields which would afford enough extra 
money, by ten years' savings, to be used in painting its dingy 
sides. Fastened to it was a porch with one end concealed by 
trailing vines, choked with dust. Before the weed-grown potato 
patch was a rickety, board fence, on the top of which was seated 
a man dressed in seedy, dusty, brown shirt, pantaloons, hat, 
and shoes. 

Upon my inquiry whether dinner could be afforded here for 
horse and man, he slid lazily off his perch with the remark : 

" Plenty oats an' hay ; no corn. Will ye lite ? " 

The man started with my horse for the stable, and I went 
toward the house. High steps reached up to the porch. On 
the latter stood a table, white with powdered plaster of Paris, 
and covered with dental instruments and teeth for false sets. 
Before it sat at work a middle-aged man. 

" Pleasant day," I said. 

"Eh? What's that?" wrinkling his narrow forehead. 

"Fine weather," I repeated. 

"Can't hear you," shoving his chair a little nearer mine. 
He was evidently deaf. 

"A pleasant day, this! " I thundered. 

"Damn the weather! Where you from?" 

"Asheville." 

"What's your business?" 

"Seeing the country." 



240 In the Saddle. 

"Seein' the country ? " Then with a cynical curl of his lip, 
"Poor business," and he continued, whittling at his plaster 
cast. 

I felt interested in the man. His cordial manners prompted 
me to fall on his neck, but I restrained myself. Then I took 
up the examination? 

"You're not a native. You have a foreign air about you, 
you have," I shouted. 

" You're right." 

" Where do you hail from ?" 

"Been living with the Osage Indians for the last twelve 
years." 

I thought as much. He was all Indian, and I concluded to 
avoid him, but he did not intend to drop the subject so easily. 

" Do you see that Osage relic '?" pointing to an Indian blanket 
hanging on a hook against the wall. "That's one of the things 
I brought back with me. I'm a man Avith a history. I can 
give you some points about a country that is a country." 

He again lapsed into silence. On the invitation to procure 
points, I determined to interview him. 

" What were you doing among the Indians? Hunting?" I 
asked. 

"No." 

"A trader?" 

"No." 

"A dentist?" 

"No." 

"What then ?" 

"None of your damn business!" 

I felt disconcerted. Evidently, the man was a gentleman, — 
he objected to being interviewed. The tack looked like a bad 
one ; clouds a little too electric for fine sailing. A thin-haired 
woman in a calico dress and rough shoes, with a care-worn 



An Exceptional Meal. 241 

expression on her pale face, was sitting at one end of the porch. 
She now spoke, in a voice inaudible to the unapproachable : 

"Don't pay any attention to him. He's been drinkin'. 
Hit allers makes him ugly." 

" Who is he?" I whispered. 

" My husband. We've been married a year ; soon arter he 
cum from the West 

And then she sighed and looked out across the rickety fence, 
the roaring waters of the Broad river, the brown mill and the few 
houses by it, and then at the stony-faced mountains beyond. I 
sighed in sympathy. 

A bare-footed black girl stuck her head out of the door and 
announced that dinner was ready. Being tired and hungry, I 
was not backward in answering this notice, and moved into the 
dining-room. On my plate, after helping myself from every- 
thing on the table, were a chunk of fat pork, a piece of doughy, 
hot, wheat bread, and some boiled green beans. A tin cup of 
butter-milk was beside the mess to wash it down. Let me say 
right here that this was- an exceptional meal! I have been on 
many tramps and rides through the Carolina mountains, but 
never had I met with such a reception and such fare. They 
were not backward in demanding half a dollar, the usual price 
asked by the mountaineer for supper, lodging and breakfast for 
a man and his horse. 

The man in brown, as he mended my saddle bags after din- 
ner, filled my ears with a recital of the mysteries of Bat cave. 
He represented it as the wonder of the mountains. Its gloomy 
depths contained chambers of marvelous dimensions, while bats, 
the unholy habitants of darkness, stuck to the walls and flitted 
in its precincts. He volunteered as a guide, and as it lay on 
the way to Chimney Rock hotel, I mounted and rode along 
with him. 

By the bouldered river, before the guide's cabin, I tied my 



2zf2 In the Saddle. 

horse, and, by means of a foot-log-, crossed to the opposite bank. 
It was a half-mile walk. We waded through the soft soil of 
several corn-fields, pitched almost perpendicular on the moun- 
tain side ; climbed a number of rail fences, and after a steep 
ascent over tree-trunks and rocks, we arrived at the mouth of 
the cave. An air as cold as a winter lake breeze came from 
the darkness. It chilled us through and through. We went 
in without torches. There were rifts in the apex of the roof, 
high above, through which Sunlight poured, dimly lighting up 
the whole interior. It failed most miserably to meet my expec- 
tations. 

" Where are your bats, Dotson ?" I asked. 

" Hit's cu'rous ; I don't see nary one." 

Dotson shaded his eyes, as he spoke, and peered down into 
a well-like hole, that broke away from our feet, and whose op- 
posite wall, rock-piled in front, ascended straight upward till the 
sides closed. 

" Nor do I," I returned ; " where are they ? " 

' ' Hit 'pears they aint 'ere. I 'low they been skeered out," 
he drawled, rubbing his cheek. 

That was all the satisfaction I obtained in regard to bats. A 
little curiosity is connected with the cave, from the fact that it 
is in granite rocks. At some convulsion of the mountain's 
crust, the walls of granite were rent asunder, and then their 
tops, meeting again, left an opening between them. The air in 
it is cold and dry, for there is no water dripping in its interior. 
There is another smaller, but deeper, cave near the one just de- 
scribed. Torches are needed and one must crawl to enter it. 
The rocks around it are also granite. 

I was on my horse again. The scenery for the next two 
miles is of a sublime description. The stone portals of a col- 
lossal gateway rise against the sky. The large mountain on the 
north is the Round Top. It presents a red cracked-stone front, 



Along the Broad River. 243 

and resembles the venerable ruins of a massive building, once 
swept by fire. Opposite to it is a line of Titanic stone cliffs — 
the front of Chimney Rock mountain. A luxuriant forest 
grows half way up its precipitous slope to the foot of the cliffs 
of bare rock, in height over 1,000. feet. A silver thread of 
water can be seen springing from the top-most edge, and falling 
down the bare face. It is the highest water-fall in the mountain 
system. The eastern end of the mountain projects its top for- 
ward, an abrupt headland. Its summit is covered with trees. 
From the glimpses caught of it along the shaded river, one 
might liken it to the bare forehead of some Caesar, with laurel 
crown, overlooking the distant lands of Rutherford county. 

Around the traveler, as he rides, are beautiful wood-land 
landscapes. A river, dammed with brown boulders, flows by 
the roadside. Where its channel narrows, it runs deep and 
smooth under the birches, oaks and pines ; then at the shal- 
lows, among the rocks, it becomes a foaming torrent. The road 
is on a stone causeway, high above the crooked stream. Be- 
tween the over-arching trees, glimpses of level road, yellow and 
dusty, can be seen at times. In the center of the valley, that 
widens out from the foot of the stone-fronted mountains, is a 
comfortable farm-house, enlarged for summer boarders, and 
kept by General G. W. Logan. It is the central point to view 
this scenic region of the mountains. It is reached by good 
roads from Rutherfordton, seventeen miles ; Hendersonville, 
nineteen miles ; Asheville, twenty-three miles ; and Shelby, the 
terminus of the Carolina Central railroad, forty miles distant. 

One mile from the hotel are the Pools. The stream is known 
as Pool creek. It seeks its level down a steep ravine, clothed 
principally with pines and oaks. Over three ledges of brown 
rock, whose edges still remain abrupt, the crystal waters of the 
stream plunge in quick succession, in as many thundering 
cascades. Where the cascades fall are basins, or pot-holes, 



244 In the Saddle. 

formed perfectly round by the whirling of the waters. They 
are from ten to fifteen feet in diameter and of fabulous depth. 
The lower one is the largest, and has been sounded (as any one 
in the neighborhood, with straight face, will tell you) to the 
depth of 200 feet without striking bottom. Fifteen feet of 
the stock end of a giant pine projects out of it. The beauty 
and wildness of the spot could not be enhanced by a knowledge, 
even if true, that a depth of more than 200 feet of water lay in 
the lower pool. 

On the edge of the ford of the river, our party halted to wit- 
ness a sunset. It was an admirable point for observation. Be- 
fore us spread a level, yellow field, forming the bottom of a 
beautiful, little valley. High mountains bound this vale on 
north and south, while directly in front of us, like companion 
sentinels, guarding the western gateway down which the sun 
was to march, stand Round Top and Chimney Rock mountains. 
Behind Chimney Rock, trending toward the west, arise in 
close succession, a number of mountains with distinct, broken 
summits, — a long palisade, fencing the gap in whose depths 
rushes the Broad river. In the center of the west, stands Bear 
Wallow mountain, the last visible knob of Hickory Nut 
gap. The sun was sinking behind the white cumuli that capped 
this mountain. Streamers of golden light, like the spokes of a 
celestial chariot, whose hub was the hidden sun, barred the 
western sky. The clouds shone with edges of beaten gold. 
Their centers, with every minute, changed to all hues imagin- 
able. The fronts of the sentinel mountains were somber in the 
shadows, while the gap was radiant with the light pouring 
through it, and every pine on the top of the palisade stood 
black against the glowing sky. 

It was dusk a few minutes after, but the roar of the river con- 
tinued ; the scents of summer filled the air ; the trees bowed in 
luxuriant greenness over the road ; the chirping of insects made 



A Shaking Mountain. 24$ 

musical the valley ; the mountains rose gloomy and magnificent 
in the twilight. 

The famous Bald mountain forms the north wall of the val- 
ley. Its sterile face is distinctly visible from the hotel porch. 
Caves similar to Bat cave are high on its front. In 1874, Bald 
mountain pushed itself into prominence by shaking its eastern 
end with an earthquake-like rumble, that rattled plates on pan- 
try-shelves in the cabins of the valleys, shook windows to pieces 
in their sashes, and even startled the quiet inhabitants of Ruther- 
fordton, 17 miles away. Since then rumblings have occasionally 
been heard, and some people say they have seen smoke rising 
in the atmosphere. There is an idea, wide-spread, that the 
mountain is an extinct volcano. As evidence of a crater, they 
point to a fissure about half a mile long, six feet wide in some 
places, and of unmeasured depth. This fissure, bordered with 
trees, extends across the eastern end of the peak. But the 
crater idea is effectually choked up by the fact that the crack is 
of recent appearance. The crack widens every year, and, as it 
widens, stones are dislodged from the mountain steeps. Their 
thundering falls from the heights may explain the rumbling, 
and their clouds of dust account for what appears to be smoke. 
The widening of the crack is possibly due to the gradual up- 
heaval of the mountain. 

The region of the gap is famous for sensational stories. In 
181 1, when known as Chimney Rock pass, a superstitious tale 
of a spectre cavalry fight, occurring here, was widely published 
in the newspapers of the day. The alleged witnesses of the 
spectacle were an old man and his wife living in the gap before 
Chimney Rock fall. So much interest was created in Ruther- 
fordton by its recital, that a public meeting was held and a 
delegation, headed by Generals Miller and Walton, with a 
magistrate and clerk, visited the old couple and took their affi- 
davits, to this effect: For several evenings, while shadows 



246 In the Saddle. 

filled the pass and sunlight still lingered on the mountain sum- 
mits, they had seen, from their doorway, two bodies of cavalry 
advance toward each other across the sky. They heard the 
charge sounded, and saw them meet in conflict, with flashing 
swords, groans, shouts oi victory, and then disappear. Three 
more settlers testified as witnesses of the same vision. They 
were all believed trustworthy, but evidently deluded by some 
natural phenomenon. Giving credence to the tale, explanations 
were advanced, but none are satisfactory. 

It is a half-day's ride of unmarked interest from the bank of 
Broad river across the Bald mountains to the Catawba. The 
road is an old mail route to Marion, McDowell county. The 
air was hot and sultry in the middle of the day, when, after 
crossing the Bald mountains, I traveled over the foot-hills 
through woods of scrubby oaks and pines. The road was 
white, dry, and dusty. The branches of the impoverished 
trees, hanging with a melancholy droop, seemed panting with 
heat, and craving the presence of a breeze. Hawks circled 
overhead, and on a rail fence, visible at one break in the forest, 
a line of crows was roosting, with their glossy black plumage 
reflecting the sunlight. Their cawing heightened the effect of 
the scene. A ride alone through such scenery, and under such 
influences, tells upon one's strength and spirits. After wind- 
ing through a beautiful valley, and a moment later fording the 
Mill fork of Catawba river, I found myself in the little village 
of Old Fort. Its houses line a wide street, running parallel 
with the Western North Carolina railroad, and range along 
several short cross streets. A wooded hill rises back of it. 
During the Revolutionary war, and after, a fort with a strong 
stockade, enclosing a spring, stood on the bank of the stream. 
There were no battles fought here, but many depredations by 
Cherokees occurred, in which several people were killed in the 
vicinity. It is from this fort that the town takes its name. 



A Twilight Gallop. 247 

About an hour before sunset, on that August day, I left Old 
Fort, by way of a well-traveled road, for Pleasant Gardens. 
There is many a level stretch for a gallop along this road, and I 
improved the opportunities afforded for a rapid push on my 
journey. Through the country I went, with the fields on my 
right, and, the woods of the hills on my left; past large, pleas- 
ant-looking farm houses in the midst of ancestral orchards and 
wide-spreading farm lands. The streams are clear, but slow 
and smooth-flowing. The number of persimmon trees and 
hollies along the roadside mark a difference between the woods 
of this section and those of the higher counties. 

It was after one of my easy gallops, that, bursting from a 
twilight wood, I beheld lying before me a valley scene of strik- 
ing beauty. A broad and level tract of farming land, covered 
with meadows, corn and pea-fields, stretched away from the 
forested skirts of the hill-sides. From my point of observation 
not a house dotting the expanse could be seen, and not even 
the sound of running water (a marked feature of the higher 
valleys) disturbed the evening stillness. A cool pleasant breeze 
was stirring, but it scarcely rustled the leaves overhead. The 
dark outlines of Mackey's mountains filled the foreground, mak- 
ing a broken horizon for the blue sky. On the right lay low 
hills. On the left the summits of a lofty line of peaks, behind 
which the sun was sinking, were crowned with clouds of flame, 
while the scattered cat-tails held all the tints and lustre of 
mother of pearl. That night I stopped in Pleasant Gardens, 
one of the richest and most beautiful valleys to be found in any 
land. It is miles in extent. John S. Brown was my hospitable 
and entertaining host. The large, frame house and surround- 
ings vividly reminded me of my native state. Everything 
showed evidence of thrift and neatness, and withal a certain 
ancestral air, one that only appears with age, overhung the ap- 
proach to, and portals of, the mansion. It was built a century 



248 In the Saddle. 

ago, but many additions and repairs have been made since the 
original log-raising. Osage-orange hedges line the path to it 
under the cluster of noble trees. On the left as you approach, 
only a few feet from the house's foundations, flows Buck creek 
with swift, clear waters : a trout stream in a day before civiliza- 
tion had cleared its banks. 

Under a clouded sky I mounted my horse on the third morn- 
ing of my journey, and set out from Pleasant Gardens. The 
fording of a stream is of so frequent occurrence in a trip through 
the Carolina mountains, that one is apt to have a confused re- 
collection of any one river or creek that he crosses, although 
few are devoid of beauty or wildness. Those of the Catawba, 
as it flows through McDowell county, have lost the character- 
istics of the mountain ford. Boulders and out-cropping ledges 
of rock are absent ; the rush and roar of crystal waters have 
given place to a smooth and less transparent flow, or noiseless, 
dimpled surface ; the banks are of crumbling soil, and, instead 
of rhododendrons and pines, alders and willows fringe the 
waters' edges. 

The great valleys of the Catawba are covered principally with 
unfenced fields of corn. The road leads through rustling acres, 
where one's horse, guided with slack rein by absent-minded 
rider, can, as he walks along, break a green ear of corn from 
the standing stalk, without stretching his neck over a fence. 
To prevent cattle from running at large through these thickly- 
planted lands, gates are swung across the roads at the division 
fence of each plantation, and from necessity, the traveler must 
open them to ride. through ; and then, from moral obligation, he 
must shut them behind him. The farm-houses are home-like in 
appearance. They denote prosperity, happiness and culture in 
the families inhabiting them. Many are of antique architect- 
ure, and set back on level lawns, under ornamental trees and 
flourishing orchards. 



A Mountain Trail. 249 

Toward the middle of the morning, the sharp outlines of the 
Linville mountains showed themselves in the east, and after an 
abrupt turn from the Bakersville road, I struck the North fork 
of the Catawba, and rode twelve miles along its picturesque 
course. Its waters have a peculiar, clear, green hue, and speak 
of speckled trout in their depths and shaded rapids. Without 
a guide, I could have followed up the North fork, under the 
shadows of Humpback mountain, and, by a trail, have crossed 
the ridge to the Linville falls; but by this route the wild scenery 
of the Linville canon is lost. Bryson Magee was my guide to 
the Burke county road along the summit of Bynum's bluff. 
Just after a slight shower, he overtook me as he was returning 
from a day's work for a North Fork farmer. He had an open, 
tanned countenance, fringed by a brown beard, and capped by 
a head of long hair, hidden under the typical mountain hat — a 
black, slouch felt, with a hole for ventilation in the center of 
the crown and minus the band. "An unbleached, linen shirt, 
crossed by "galluses" which held his homespun pantaloons in 
place, covered his body. He wore shoes and walked leisurely. 

" Is there anyone on this road who can guide me up Bynum's 
bluff?" I asked him, after returning his "howdy." 

"Why, some niggers live nigh hyar who could do hit, but 
they're all at work two mile below." 

"Any one else I could get?" 

"Not a soul, except — " 

"Who?" I asked. 

" Wal, stranger — I reckon you's a furriner — I kin do hit, but 
I'm powerful tired: worked all day." 

When we arrived at his log cabin, he had- definitely deter- 
termined to go. It was then four o'clock, and clouds were 
driving thick and dark across the sky. We tied the saddle-bags 
to the saddle, and then began the ascent. Bryson led my 
horse; I walked on behind. 



250 In the Saddle. 

Before we had proceeded 100 yards, a light rain began fall- 
ing. This did not deter us, for Bryson, like all the denizens of 
the coves, was callous to dampness, heat, and cold, and as for 
myself, a rubber coat came in play. The flinty ground was set 
with whortleberry bushes — a true indicator of sterility. These 
berries were ripe, and we gathered them, as we tramped along 
the trail, while the clouds grew heavier around us, and the rain 
swept in blinding sheets through the scrubby forest. There was 
no thunder to add variety to the storm, only the moan of the 
wind, and the sound of tree tops swaying in the gusts. The water 
poured in streams from my hat, and my legs, to the knees, were 
soaked from contact with wet bushes ; but gradually it cleared 
over-head, and when we reached the main road, on the summit 
of the ridge, the clouds had parted, and through their rifts the 
sun, still an hour high, poured a burning glory over the drip- 
ping forests. 

Looking southward in the direction the guide pointed, a 
mighty, rock-topped mountain, lifting itself into the sunlight 
above the fog, was visible. It appeared like a stone wall rising 
from the ocean. Squared off in sharp outlines, without trees 
or lesser visible vegetation on its level summit, it presents a 
striking contrast to the other peaks of the Alleghanies south. 
It is the Table Rock mountain, 3,918 feet in altitude. Hawk- 
bill, a peak named from its top being crowned with a tilted 
ledge of moss-mantled rock, resembling the beak of a hawk, 
stood before me as I turned toward the left. Its altitude is 
4,090 feet. Both these peaks are accessible for climbers, and 
are much visited by tourists curious to examine the character of 
their rock formation. 

"We jist hit it," broke forth the guide, "a minute more an' 
we would n't seen 'em. See, the fog's crawlin' up, slow but 
shore." 

It was as he had said. The massed vapors in the low sunk 



The Linville Canon. 251 

vales were being driven upward, and a moment later they had 
enfolded Table Rock and Hawk -bill, and were creeping through 
the woods around us. I now handed him fifty cents, the price 
for a day's common labor through that section, and, shaking 
hands, we separated. It was five miles to the nearest house, 
and lacked only one hour of sunset. Three miles had been 
passed over, when a sound, as of some distant waterfall, struck 
on my ears. It was a soft, steady, liquid murmur. Halting 
my horse, I sat in the saddle and listened, then dismounted, 
tied, and walking through the weeds a few steps, reached some 
broken rocks at the edge of a precipice. Clinging to a tree, I 
leaned over and looked below through perpendicular space over 
1,000 feet. I shouted from the sensations created by the won- 
derful wildness of the scene. 

At first sight down into a canon, that seemed almost fathom- 
less, I saw an inky, black band stretched through the depths, 
with surface streaked with silver. "It was the Linville river, but 
distance rendered its waters motionless to the vision. A thin 
mist lent an indescribable weirdness to the scene, and seemed 
veiling some mighty mystery in its folds. "Wrapping the tall 
pines, dwindled as to shrubs in dizziness of distance," it was 
being shaken from its foothold by varying breezes, broken into 
separate sheets of vapor, and pushed upward along the perpen- 
dicular walls. It curled and twisted weirdly through the 
tangled pines, filling black rents in the opposite mountain's 
face, shielding a ragged, red cliff here and there, but at every 
movement mounting toward the canon's rim. Soon the profile 
faces on the upper cliffs jutted out in clear air ; the brick-like 
fronts of rock, in pine settings across the chasm became plainly 
visible ; the lower forests stood free ; the dark river, sweeping 
in an acute angle, within stone drop below, tossed upward its 
eternal echo ; the mists had clustered in thick clouds on the 



252 In the Saddle. 

summit of an unknown peak, and then all grew dusky with the 
approach of night. 

A scene is sublime, according to its power to awaken the 
sense of fear ; the more startling, the more sublime. The view 
of Linville canon from the Bynum's Bluff road possesses, in the 
writer's opinion, more of the elements of sublimity than any 
other landscape in North Carolina. The region of the Linville 
is one of scenery grandly wild and picturesque. The only 
region that approaches it in wildness and sublimity — being 
somewhat similar in the perpendicularity of its mountains and 
the clearness of its stream, but contrasting by the fertility of its 
soil and luxuriance of its forests — is the Nantihala River valley. 

The Linville range is a spur of the Blue Ridge, separated 
from the latter by the North Fork valley. It trends south, and 
for a distance is the dividing line between Burke and McDowell. 
Its highest altitude is about 4,000 feet. Jonas' Ridge runs par- 
allel with it on the east, and between them, through a narrow 
gorge, over 1,000 feet deep, flows Linville river. The rocks of 
these mountains are sandstones and quartzites. The soil is 
scanty and sterile, and the forests scrubby. The falls are dis- 
tant from Marion on the Western North Carolina railroad, about 
twenty-five miles, and reached as the writer has described. 
From Morgantown, on the same railroad, they can be reached 
by a day's ride in conveyance over the highway on the summit 
of the mountains. Hickory is also a point from which to start, 
and one frequently taken by tourists. 

That night I dried my clothes at T. C. Franklin's fireside, 
one mile from the falls of the Linville. Around the crackling 
logs (this was in August) was a small party, such as is often 
collected at mountain wayside farm-houses. Steaming their 
clothes with me at the broad hearth, were two Philadelphia 
lawyers. A few days previous, closing their musty tomes, fil- 
ing away their legal documents, and reconciling importunate 



Taken for Highwaymen. 253 

clients with fair promises, they had locked their doors to silence, 
dust and cobwebs, and started southward. In Virginia they 
each bought a horse, and equipped like myself, they were doing 
the mountains. It was not only their first visit to Western 
North Carolina, but their first trial in that mode of traveling; 
and, like all innocents abroad, they had gathered some interest- 
ing matters from personal experience. While the • good-wife 
rattled away at the plates on a table just cleared by us of every- 
thing in the shape of food, in spite of the steady patter of rain 
on the roof, warmed by the glowing fire, and growing enthusias- 
tic over mutual praise of the mountain scenery, we drifted into 
the following conversation : 

"That view from the Roan eclipses everything I have ever 
seen in the White, Green, Catskill and Virginia mountains ; but 
I would not ascend it again for all the views from Maine to 
Florida, if I had the same experience to pass through," said one, 
whose black hair, eyes, beard and dark complexion gave him a 
brigand appearance. 

"No," returned his pleasant, fair-laced companion, "You 
know the peril of your being abroad nights. Some one else, 
less timid, might actually shoot you." 

" Were you in danger of being shot?" I asked. 

"Yes; shot for a highwayman," answered he of the open 
countenance, and then he laughed. 

"How so?" 

"Oh! Hal's joking about the shooting business. I was 
taken for a robber ; that's a fact; but what I mean by an un- 
pleasant experience was our being lost on the Roan. " 

"I intend to ascend the Roan. Is the way hard to find?" 
I spoke to the dark-visaged man. 

"It is from the Tennessee side. We took that route, with 
explicit directions how to reach the hotel on the summit. It 
was only fifteen miles distant from our stopping-place, but it 



254 I n ti u Saddle. 

rained, and a dark morning gave us a late start. From Cran- 
berry to the foot of the Roan we pursued a trail way, and a 
tangled pursuit it was. At the base of the mountain we wound 
ourselves up in a net work of log roads that, cut by the lumber- 
men, branched out in every direction, crossing and recrossing 
each other in the great woods. Extricating ourselves from this, 
we climbed the mountain, arriving on the ridge about sunset. 
Just before gaining the ridge, we met a party of four tourists 
on foot, whom we saluted and left behind. A painted gate led 
us astray, and we followed the ridge leading to the Little Roan. 
We retraced our steps in the rain and darkness, .and took shelter 
near the delusive gate in an empty but comfortable cabin, 
erected evidently for lost wayfarers. I went out after we had 
started a fire, and found the party of four men seated on a log 
in the rain at some distance from the cabin. I invited them 
to return with me, but they declined. I said nothing more, 
considering them non compos mentis." 

"A singular party. Did you discover any reason for then- 
refusal ? " 

" Yes," began the one addressed as Hal, " Mat's face, dress, 
and figure frightened them ; and, as they told the landlord in 
the morning, in spite of their being well armed, they preferred 
an all night's roost in the rain to falling into the clutches of a 
highwayman." 

''Well, that's so" said Mat, nodding his head and smiling; 
'• However, we were lucky in finding the cabin before they did. 
Had they got there first, they would have barred the door 
against us, and, perhaps, warned us away with a few pistol 
shots." 

Our social ring was at this point broken up by a party who 
seemed too much preoccupied with themselves to join us, and 
so we separated for the night. The party in question consisted 
ot two newly married couples. The knots had been tied in 



Reynard and tlie Pheasant. 255 

Morganton, a few days previous, and they were then on their 
bridal tour. They drove up in the rain, unharnessed and tied 
their horses under the dripping trees (for the stable was full), 
and came in upon us. 

On the next morning, under a clear sky, I wound my-way 
on foot under the limbs of kalmia and rhododendrons to the 
Linville falls. It is a wild approach. Over the hedges tower 
ancient hemlocks with mossed trunks. The blue-jay screamed 
through the forest, and around the boles of the trees and along 
the branches, squirrels, known as mountain boomers, chased 
each other, halting in their scampers to look down on the dis- 
turber of the solitude. Once, a brilliant-breasted pheasant, 
roused by my footsteps, from a bed of fern-crested rocks, 
sprung in air close before me, and with a startled whirr, sailed 
up a shaded ravine. A sportsman, with a shot-gun, could easily 
have winged the bird in its flight, thereby securing a valuable 
trophy for the taxidermist. The cock pheasant of the moun 
tains has not a shabby feather on his body: They are found in 
many sections of the mountains, but not in great numbers. 
The hollow drum-like sound caused by beating their wings 
against their bodies, is in most instances their death tattoo. At 
its sound from the neighboring cove, the hunter takes down his 
rifle, creeps near the favorite log, and generally makes a dead 
shot. 

An old mountaineer, famous as a narrator of bear and fish 
stories, was particularly fond of telling one relating to pheasant 
shooting. One autumn day, having already marked the forest 
locality from which the drum of a pheasant resounded every 
morning, he crept near with his rifle. The bird had just jumped 
in place and was drumming within his sight. He took deliber 
ate aim and fired. On running to the log he discovered a red 
fox struggling in his death throes on the opposite side of the 
log, and in his mouth a dead pheasant. Reynard, as the 



256 In the Saddle. 

mountaineer explained, marking the frequented log, had 
secreted himself close beside it, and, while the mountaineer was 
aiming, was preparing to seize the bird, and did so at the mo- 
ment the trigger was pulled. 

The heavy thunder of the falls swept through the forest, 
increasing as I advanced. The path diverged at one point, 
and, taking the right hand trail, by means of the roots of the 
laurel, I descended a cliff's face in cool, dismal shade. At the 
bottom, I came out on a black ledge of rock, close to the river. 
A stupendous fall was before ; stern walls of a rocky canon, 
100 feet high, around me, and a blue sky smiling above. I 
climbed a stair-way of moist rocks, and walked along the path 
on the cliff's front to a point directly before the fall's face. The 
great volume of the Linville river, formed from drainage for 
fifteen miles back to the water-shed of the Blue Ridge, here at 
the gap between Jonas' Ridge and the Linville mountains, has 
cut asunder a massive wall,- leaving high perpendicular cliffs 
towering over its surface, and then, with a tremendous leap, 
pours it current down through space, fifty feet, into the bottom 
of the canon. It seems to burst from a dark cavern in the 
mountain's center. A pool, sixty feet across, looking like the 
surface of a lake with dark waves white-capped, spreads in a 
circle at the base of the cliffs. After recovering from the diz- 
ziness of its plunge, the river, leaving the piny walls on either 
side, rushes along in view for a short distance, and then disap- 
pears around the corner of a green promontory. 

If one, in retracing one's steps, takes the left hand trail at the 
point of divergence, and follows it to the edge of the cliffs, a 
magnificent downward view will be obtained, both of the foot 
of the cataract, and above, where its waters race in serpentine 
course, increased in velocity by the plunges over smaller falls 
only a few yards up the gorge. 

A wilder solitude, a more picturesque confusion of crags, 



A Lonely Ride. 257 

waters, woods, and mountain heights, can scarcely be found. 
But even here, man once fitted for himself a dwelling-place ; 
for plainly visible across the tops of the trees, was a little 
cabin on a small, sloping clearing. No smoke curled upward 
from its weather-worn roof; its doors had been torn away and 
chimney leveled. A few cows pastured before it. 

After dinner I left Franklin's to ride over a good road up the 
Linville river. The afternoon passed without any occurrences 
or scenes of marked interest, and the sun was slowly sinking 
toward a mountain-rimmed horizon when, making a last inquiry 
in regard to my route, I entered a wilderness, unbroken by 
human habitation for nearly five miles. It was a great, green- 
lined way. Linns, birches, and hemlocks met over-head, ren- 
dering dark the shadows. Under this forest, grow in richest 
luxuriance dark hedges of rhododendron, too dense for easy 
penetration, and reaching up to the lower branches of the trees. 
It was late in season for their flowers, still many of them were 
white and purple with bloom. So deep and luxuriant was the 
foliage of the forest and its undergrowth, and so cold the waters 
of the stream that crossed and recrossed or occupied the road- 
bed itself, that the air was chilly at the hour in which I rode, 
and must be so even at noon-day. 

The shade continued to deepen, and the chilliness of the air 
increased ; still, in spite of the apparent great distance I had 
covered, no house presented itself, and in only one place did 
the branches of the trees separate themselves sufficiently to see 
out. Then, far beyond, I saw the black summit of the Grand- 
father. That was all. The waters of the stream are of a rich, 
Rhine-wine color. At one point that day, I noticed, attached 
to a fence above the stream, a board bearing the words, "No 
fishing allowed on this land." This is the only posted warning 
against angling that I have seen, or know of, in the mountains. 

In that twilight hour the stream seemed to sine a doleful 



258 In the Saddle. 

refrain over the smooth boulders and gnarled ivy roots. An 
owl hooted from its hidden perch in a mossed pine ; and a scared 
rabbit, interrupted in its evening meal on an apple dropped by 
some lonely wayfarer, fled across the road, and disappeared in 
the gloom of the thickets. A more dismal woodland for a twi- 
light ride could not well be imagined in the possibilities of 
nature. It would naturally be more dismal to the unfamiliar 
traveler, tired with a long day's ride, and despairing of reach- 
ing a farm-house before the approach of a cloudy night. 

Suddenly the forest on one side opened, and a clearing of 
dead, girdled trees, with brush fires blazing here and there 
among the white, standing trunks, lay before me. Further on 
was a meadow and a small house, from whose chimney a wreath 
of smoke was ascending straight to the zenith. Over the house 
and farm loomed the rock-crowned summit of the Peak of the 
Blue Ridge. An unshapely ledge cropped from the mountain's 
top. 

I was now on the summit of one of the gaps of the Blue 
Ridge, at an elevation of 4, 100 feet. On one side down a 
gradual descent through the wilderness described, flow the 
waters of the Linville on the way to the Atlantic ; on the 
other, close on the dividing line, wells up the spring forming 
the Watauga, whose waters mingle with the Mississippi. A 
short mile below this point, down the Watauga side, is Callo- 
way's, at the foot of the Grandfather, as the sign-board directly 
before the gate will tell the man who stops to read it. In the 
dusk, I dismounted here, tossed my horse's bridle to a bare- 
footed boy, and then lugged my saddle-bags to the porch before 
the unpainted front of a new addition on an old house. I was 
well received and seated. 

Beside the road, before the house, was presented that even- 
ing a scene that merits description. It was the camp of a fam- 
ily who, having abandoned one home, was seeking another. An 



A House on Wheels. 259 

open fire blazed on the ground. Its light shone on a white 
covered, rickety wagon, at whose rear end were feeding, out of 
a box strapped there, a mule and a horse. The mule was all 
ears ; the horse all ribs, backbone, and neck, plainly appearing 
through a drum-tight hide. Around the fire was a squalid 
group consisting of a man, woman, and four small boys. The 
man and boys were barefooted, and wore nothing but hats, 
breeches, and shirts. The woman had on a tattered gown, and 
had her pinched features concealed within a dark bonnet. At 
that moment they were drinking coffee in turns from a single 
tin cup, and eating corn bread. The pinched features, strag- 
gling hair, and sallow, almost beardless face of the man, made 
his a visage of stolid apathy. At intervals, a gust, sweeping 
down the narrow valley, would lay low the flames and whirl 
the smoke in a circle, enveloping the group, and awakening 
a loud coughing from the woman. My supper was not ready 
until after I had seen the last one of the family crawl after the 
others into the wagon for the night. 

The next morning I went out to talk with them as they ate 
breakfast. 

" Where are you from ? " I asked. 

"Tenesy," answered the man, giving the accent on the first 
syllable, a pronunciation peculiar to the uneducated natives. 

" How do you come to be here?" 

" Movin'. Got ejected in Tenesy, an' we're now huntin' a 
new place. " 

"Where?" 

" Dunno. We reckon on squattin' somewhar in the Blue 
Ridge." 

"Will you buy or rent the property?" 

"Buy?" answered he, with an expression of astonishment 
on his face; "What do you reckon I'd buy with, stranger? I 
ain't got a copper, an' thet mule, hoss, wagin, an' hay an' corn 



260 In the Saddle. 

in hit, an' them harnesses, could'nt be swapped fer much land, 
I^reckon. All I've got ? Yes, 'cept the ole woman an' them 
boys. I'll jist put up a cabin somewhars in the woods, plant a 
crap, an' stick thar till they done driv me out." 

After this reply, he leaned forward and poured Out another 
cup of coffee for himself and family, as I slowly turned and 
walked away. No more poverty-stricken families can be found 
than some of these occasionally seen moving through the 
mountains. This one had property in a team and wagon, but 
I have met them traveling on foot and carrying their sole pos- 
sessions. 

A family of the latter description I came across near the 
Ocona Lufta in Swain county. It was a warm May day, and 
the road was dry and dusty. I was on foot with a companion 
from the Richland valley. On descending a short hill to a 
small stream gliding out from under a clump of wayside willows, 
we met the party. There were eight of them, as destitute, 
ragged, forlorn, and withal as healthy a family as I ever saw. 
The father and husband was fully 70 years of age. His long 
gray hair, although unkempt ; his wrinkled face, and mild blue 
eyes, had something in all to arouse reverence and pity in the 
most thoughtless of mankind. He was dressed in an unbleached 
musiin shirt, much the worse for wear ; a pair of pantaloons so 
completely covered with patches that it would have taken an 
artisan tailor to distinguish the original ground-work ; a pair of 
cloth suspenders, and a battered hat. He was bare-footed, and 
carried on his shoulders half a bushel of corn. The wife and 
mother was much younger. Her face was stolid enough to be 
utterly indifferent to their condition. She had on the least pos- 
sible quantity of clothes to cover her form, and a calico bonnet 
on her head. Under her arm was a bundle of spring onions, 
probably gathered from some convenient yard near which they 
had encamped in true gypsy fashion. The eldest daughter, a 



The Patriarch of Mountains. 261 

grown woman, was no better attired than her mother. She 
had in her possession a roll of tattered blankets. The five 
remaining, frowzy children, barefooted and ragged like their sire, 
had in their respective keepings, a coffee-pot, two or three 
gourds and an iron kettle. This was the whole family with a 
full inventory of their worldly possessions. They said that they 
were moving back to Tennessee ; that they had been burnt out ; 
that the head of the family could not earn more than 20 cents 
per day; that it was "split the Smoky mountings or bust." 
We were under the impression that the 20 cents per day 
included the board for the family. We gave them some small 
change and tobacco and then separated. 

The Grandfather mountain, in the extreme southern corner of 
Watauga county, is the highest point of the Blue Ridge. The 
elevation is 5.897 feet, and being 35 miles in an air-line distant 
from the loftier summits of the Black mountains, and fifteen 
miles from the Roan, over-topping as it does all the nearer 
peaks by an altitude of nearly 1,000 feet, it commands an almost 
limitless view of mountain country. It merits the name of 
Grandfather, for its rocks are of the Archaean age, and the 
oldest out-croppings on the globe. Two. other reasons for its 
name are ascribed; one from the profile of a man's face seen 
from the Watauga river ; the other from the resemblance of the 
rhododendrons, when clad in ice and snow, to the white, flow- 
ing beard of a patriarch. 

Differing from all the mountains of the South, dense laby- 
rinths of rhododendrons and pines begin at its base. The 
traveler enters their shadows by the road-side, and for two and 
a half miles, the distance from Calloway's to the summit, they 
are continually with him. Although the first two miles are 
often accomplished on horseback, it is too steep for easy riding. 
The path winds like the trail of a serpent, brushing by the 
bases of low, vine-draped cliffs, around yellow hemlocks, and 



262 In the Saddle. 

disappearing in the rocky channel of a torrent, or into hedges 
of rhododendrons. 

On the morning that I made the ascent, I was impressed with 
the noticeable absence of birds. Not a note from a feathered 
songster resounded through the forest. No life was visible or 
audible, except occasionally on the cliffs, quick-eyed lizards, of 
the color of the rocks, appeared and then disappeared in the 
mossed crevices of the stone. 

One-half mile from the summit, under a tall, dark cliff 
whose cold face seems never to have been kissed by sunlight, 
bubbles a large spring. Its water is of a temperature less than 
eight degrees above the freezing point. This, as far as is 
known, is the coldest spring south of New York state. Here 
the steepest part of the ascent begins. At intervals old logs 
are piled across the narrow trail, and in places rocks have set 
themselves on edge. Grasses grow rankly with weeds and ferns. 
These, covered with the moisture of the clouds that had drop- 
ped with the night about the forehead of the Grandfather, and 
only lifted with daylight, wet the person pushing through them 
as thoroughly as if he had fallen in the torrent. 

The summit of the mountain is a narrow, ragged ridge, 
covered with balsams. If these trees were cleared from the 
central pinnacle, a sweeping view toward every point of the 
compass could be obtained, without change of position. As it 
is, they obstruct the vision, and to see out on every side it 
is necessary to move to three points, all close together, known 
as the Watauga, Caldwell, and Burke views. 

Let the reader imagine himself stationed at one of these 
views. Mantling the steep declivities are the wildernesses of 
black balsams. A cool breeze swings and beats their branches 
together. The sun rides in an atmosphere so clear that there 
seems no limit to vision. A precipice breaks away from your 
feet, but you do not notice where it ends ; for at the attempted 



The "Meetiri House." 263 

downward look, the mountains below, like the billows of a 
stormy ocean stilled in their rolling by some mighty hand, crowd 
upon the vision. They have all the colors of the ocean, wave 
beyond wave, surge beyond surge, till they blend in with the 
sky, or hide their most distant outlines in the cumuli bounding 
the horizon. You fancy hearing the sound of breakers, and 
look directly below as though seeking for the reason of no 
roar arising from the waves lying at the base of the headland. 
Then the dream of the sea vanishes. There lie the forests, 
dwarfed but real, dark green, covering the unsightly rocks and 
ending at brown clearings, in whose centers appear farm-houses, 
the almost invisible fences running wild over the hills, the yel- 
low road revealed at intervals, and the silver threads of streams. 
It was on a beautiful Sunday morning that I left Calloway's 
and rode down the western slope of the Blue Ridge. A quiet, 
seemingly more hallowed than that of other days, was brood- 
ing over the valley through which, beside the Watauga, the road 
descended. The fields and meadows were vacant ; and the 
mountaineers, observant of the Sabbath, were all within their 
homely dwellings, or assembled at the meeting-house of 
the neighborhood. This place of prayer is a plain, unpainted, 
frame building, enclosed by a rail fence, beside the road. Just 
before reaching it your horse must splash through a roaring, 
crystal ford of the Watauga. When I passed it that morning, 
services had already begun, and the sounds of a hymn, sung by 
all the congregation, in strong, melodious chorus, came wafted 
through the trees. A long line of saddled horses and mules 
were ranged along the fence, or tied to the rhododendron hedges 
on the opposite side of the road. The house seemed packed; 
for many of the men were standing bare-headed in the sunlight 
before the crowded door, and a number of young folks were 
gathered in groups about the yard, the latter more intent 
on their own conversation than on what was doing indoors. 



264 l n t? ie Saddle. 

Some of them nodded to me as I passed. This manner of 
the mountaineers saluting every one, friend or stranger, is 
a pleasant one, and prevents, in the traveler, all feelings of 
loneliness arising from his being in a strange country. 

At one point on the road, the further rocky end of the 
Grandfather mountain presents the distinct features of a face. 
You can see it looking out from its head-dress of firs, like a 
demi-god, holding eternal watch over the myriad mountains and 
valleys. 

The vicinity of Blowing Rock is a summer resort. It is a 
lofty plateau of the Blue Ridge, covered with dense forests, 
level farms, and crossed by smooth highways. Good country 
accommodations are offered here for the tourist. From the 
edge of the mountain wall, which overhangs Caldwell county, 
two points — Blowing Rock and Fairview — afford admirable 
stands, for overlooking the piedmont country. The views are 
similar in character. From Fairview the valley of the John's 
river, embosomed in green mountains, lies in the low fore- 
ground ; while rolling back, spread ranges, picturesque in out- 
line and purple coloring. In the morning or evening, when the 
sunlight is thrown aslant across them, bathing the fronting 
slopes in fire, and leaving, under the opposite brows, gloomy 
shadows, so long drawn out that many of the valleys are as 
dark as they are silent, the scene is such that one can never 
tire of viewing it, or ever lose the impressions that even one 
sight of it will awaken. 

A ride of eight miles from the center of the plateau resort, 
will bring the traveler to Boone, the county seat of Watauga. 
Along the way several sweeping landscape prospects are af 
forded. In one of the dense woods I passed men engaged in 
clearing a laurel thicket. The soil where the laurel springs 
being generally rich, it requires, after its clearing, nothing but a 
slight plowing, and enough corn for planting, to have the ex- 




WATAUGA FALLS. 



A County-Seat Above the Clouds. 267 

panse, which, during the last season, was blooming with white 
and purple rhododendron flowers, transformed into a green and 
tasseled corn-field. 

Boone, the most elevated county seat east of the Rocky 
mountains, is 3,222 feet above the sea. Its population num- 
bers about 200, and lives along a street rising and falling with 
the hills. Due to the fact of no majestic mountains arising 
round it, there is, in its surroundings, less of the attractive 
features that distinguish the most of the mountain county seats. 
Near the stream which flows on one side of the town, Daniel 
Boone, the famous hunter, is said to have encamped while on a 
hunting tour. It is from this tradition of the camp that the vil- 
lage took its name. 

An afternoon ride from Boone will land the traveler at Elk 
river. The scenery on the route is picturesque. In the valleys 
they were raking hay that August day. One valley in particu- 
lar, by the Watauga, is of captivating loveliness. The moun- 
tains rise around it, as though placed there with no other pur- 
pose than to protect its jewel-like expanse from rOugh incur- 
sions of storm. It lay smooth and level under the warm sun- 
light. Nothing but grass and clover covered it — in some fields 
wholly standing, in others being laid low by the reapers, It is 
evidently a stock farm ; for large droves of sleek, fat cattle were 
grazing in some of the meadows. A cheerful farm-house 
and large out-buildings stand on one side of the road. The 
noise of a spinning wheel, coming from the sunlight-flooded 
porch where a gray-haired matron was visible, blended with the 
sounds from the fields — the lowing of cattle, the noise of 
sharpening scythes, and laughter from rosy-cheeked girls and ■ 
men, who, pausing in their work, looked for a moment at the 
travel-worn horse and rider. This valley I would love to live 
in. 

As a county perfectly adapted for stock-raising, Watauga 



268 In the Saddle. 

cannot be surpassed. One and three-quarters miles off the road 
you are now pursuing, is the Marianna falls of the Little Dutch 
creek. It is easily approached by the foot-traveler. After 
reaching the stream from above, by descending a winding trail 
you come out on the flat, rocks directly below and before the 
fall. It is eighty-five feet high and makes a perpendicular 
descent over mossed and lichened rocks. 

Valle Crucis lies on the left of the way that winds under the 
trees along the base of one of its mountain limits. It is a valley 
containing probably 600 acres, and noted for its beauty. The 
name is taken from its imaginary resemblance to a cross. The 
length of the valley, running between the rounded parallel 
ranges, is compared to the upright piece of the cross, and the 
openings between these ranges on either side where green levels 
reach back, to the arms. From the best point of observation 
which I gained, it seemed a perfect square — a vivid green lake, 
fringed with the rich foliage of the forests which decked the 
slopes of the bordering mountains. 

A little religious history is connected with this Valley of the 
Cross. On one spot in it there are still to be seen amid weeds 
and luxuriant grasses the scattered ruins of a building. They are 
all the remaining evidences of a mission school, founded many 
years' since by the Episcopal Church of the state. It was under 
the particular supervision of Bishop Levi S. Ives ; and it was 
here that, 30 years ago, he openly renounced loyalty to his 
church and went over to the Roman Catholic faith. With this 
singular apostacy, work at the mission school closed, and the 
building gradually assumed its present proportions. 
• Over lonely mountains the road now leads to Elk river. I 
rode for mile after mile that evening without seeing a cabin 
or farm-house. The scenery along the Elk has something 
decidedly romantic in its features. On one hand would be 
perched a moss-grown cottage on the mountain slope, with a 



Dozvn the Noisy Elk. 269 

few giant hemlocks, allowed to stand at the time of the general 
clearing, overshadowing it. Below, on the other hand, would lie 
fertile fields, watered by the noisy Elk, and enclosed on three 
sides by the dark and sober forests of the hemlock. The seren- 
ity of the evening was not disturbed by the farewell whistling 
of the quails ; the rattling of the bells from the cows coming 
homeward across the pastures ; the barking of a dog behind the 
barnyard fence, and the opening cry of the whip-poor-will. 

The moon had turned from silver to gold ; the stream under 
the spruces was sparkling where no shadows fell athwart its sur- 
face, and a cold, evening breeze, the usual companion of night 
over the mountains, was rustling the black foliage of the trees, 
when I dismounted at a hospitable farm-house on the Elk, 
where I had a wholesome supper ; shared a bed with the farmer's 
son, a graduate of the North Carolina University; had an early 
breakfast, and before sunrise, mounting my horse, I was on the 
way toward the foot of the Roan. An old forge, where the iron 
taken from the mountain near by was smelted, stands by the 
road. It was abandoned a few years since. The Cranberry 
mines are a mile off the main road. They are in Humpback 
mountain, Mitchell county, North Carolina, and included in a 
tract of 4,000 acres, owned by the Cranberry Iron & Coal Com- 
pany of 'Philadelphia, of which A. Pardee is president. Mines 
have been w*orked in this mountain for the last half-century. 
They are now being operated on a large scale. The narrow- 
guage railway, an off-shoot of the E. T. , V. & G. R. R., runs to 
the tunnel ; and the raw ore is transferred by rail to furnaces in 
the North. The tunnel to the ore bank is run in on a level 
from the railroad, to a depth of 325 feet. Both steam and 
hand drills are being worked. The vein now struck appears 
inexhaustible. It was discovered half a mile above on the 
mountain side, and then the lower tunnel was projected in to it. 



270 In the Saddle. 

The company's saw-mill is in active operation near by. A town 
will soon be in existence here. 

From the Tennessee side the ascent of the Roan is arduous, 
and if one has not taken precaution to secure explicit directions, 
he may be obliged to sleep out all night in the gloomy woods, 
in this regard being more unfortunate than the two travelers 
whom I met on the Linville. Profiting through their misfor- 
tune, I learned every crook of the way, and with only the 
steepness of the ascent to discomfit me, arrived at sunset on 
the summit of that majestic mountain. The scene below, in 
every direction, except where the Little Roan uplifts its gray 
dome, was one tumultuous mountain ocean, rolling with rough 
and smooth swells alternately toward the ragged horizon : 

' 'And half the sky 
Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, 
Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew 
Down the steep west into a wondrous hue, 
Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent, 
Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent 
Among the many-folded hills." 

One hundred and twelve feet below the extreme top of Roan 
mountain is situated Cloudland Hotel, over 6,200 feet above 
the sea, and the highest habitation east of the Rockies. There 
is enough novelty in the situation of a summer resort at so 
lofty an altitude to captivate the tourist, even were there no 
attractions of sky, climate, scenery, or the aspecfof the moun- 
tain top itself. It is a beautiful, rounded meadow, where the 
rocks, which one would naturally expect to see exposed, are 
hidden under a soil clad with luxuriant grasses, mountain 
heather, and clumps of rhododendrons, and azaleas. Sombre 
forests of balsam stretch like natural fences around the edges 
of the treeless expanse, which, for over two miles, pursues the 
center ridge of the mountain. At one end of the Roan, naked 
granite cliffs descend into soundless gorges, and the sublimity 
of the view from the brow of the precipice is indescribable. 



The Hermit of G Tiers Bald. 271 

The mountain brooks teem with speckled trout, and a series of 
beautiful cascades on one wild slope will attract the lover of 
nature. From June until October the air is balmy and bracing, 
the temperature ranging during the summer from 58 to 73 . 

The regular route to Cloudland is over a turnpike from John- 
son City, a station on the East Tennessee, Virginia, & Geor- 
gia railroad. A line of comfortable, covered stages make the 
trip of thirty-two miles every Monday, Wednesday, and Fri- 
day. For travelers coming from Eastern North Carolina and 
beyond, conveyances can be obtained at Marion, on the West- 
ern North Carolina railroad ; distant 45 miles. 

The slopes of this mountain are covered by vast tracts of 
cherry and other hard-wood trees. Its timbered wealth is 
incalculable. Saw-mills have lately sprung into place, and the 
bases and gentle uplands are now crossed with fresh roads and 
dotted with loggers' camps. General Wilder, of Chattanooga, 
the owner of Cloudland Hotel and of most of the mountain, 
is the principal operator in this line. 

As related by General J. W. Bowman, one of the first citi- 
zens of Mitchell county and descendant of a Revolutionary 
patriot, the summit of the Roan was the rendezvous for the 
mountain men of the Washington district and Watauga settle- 
ment, assembling for the march ending in the battle of King's 
mountain. 

In Yancey county, visible from the Roan, and forty-five miles 
from Asheville, is a peak known as Grier's Bald, named in 
memory of David Grier, a hermit, who lived upon it for thirty- 
two years. From posthumous papers of Silas McDowell, we 
learn the following facts of the hermit's singular history. A 
native of South Carolina, he came into the mountains in 1798, 
and made his home with Colonel David Vance, whose daughter 
he fell in love with. His suit was not encouraged; the young 
lady was married to another, and Grier, with mind evidently 



272 In the Saddle. 

crazed, plunged into the wilderness. This was in 1802. On 
reaching the bald summit of the peak which bears his name, he 
determined to erect a permanent lodge in one of the coves. 
He built a log house and cleared a tract of nine acres, subsist- 
ing in the meantime by hunting and on a portion of the $250 
paid him by Colonel Vance for his late services. He was 
twenty miles from a habitation. For years he lived undis- 
turbed ; then settlers began to encroach on his wild domains. 
In a quarrel about some of his real or imaginary landed rights, 
he killed a man named Holland Higgins. At the trial he was 
cleared on the ground of insanity, and returned home to meet 
his death at the hands of one of Holland's friends. Grier was 
a man of strong mind and fair education. After killing Hig- 
gins, he published a pamphlet in justification of his act, and 
sold it on the streets. He left papers of interest, containing 
his life's record and views of life in general, showing that he 
was a deist, and a believer in the right of every man to take 
the executive power of the law into his own hands. 

While I was at the hotel a terrific thunder storm visited — 
not the summit of the Roan — but the valleys below it. It came 
after dark, and from the porch we looked out and clown upon 
the world in which it raged. Every flash of lightning was a 
revelation of glory, disclosing a sea of clouds of immaculate 
whiteness — a boundless archipelago whose islands were the 
black peaks of the mountains. Not a valley could be seen ; 
nothing but the snowy bosom of this cloud ocean, and the 
stately summits which had lifted themselves above its vapors. 
In the height of the storm, the lightning blazed in one inces- 
sant sheet, and the thunder came rolling up through the black 
awful edge of the balsams, producing somewhat similar sensa- 
tions to those which fill the breast of a superstitious savage at 
the recurrence of an every-day storm above him. 

When I descended the mountains on the following afternoon, 



Bakersville and its Vicinity. 273 

the ravages of the storm were visible on several splintered oak 
trees, which lay prone across some of the wayside clearings ; 
and Big Rock creek was high and still roaring, with its excess 
of water. 

At sight of the rocky fords of this stream, the traveler would 
naturally form the opinion that it flows through wild, rugged 
scenery, in a country devoid of clearings. There is, however, 
fine farming land, cleared and occupied, along Big Rock creek. 
One portion of it, in particular, of soil rich and fertile, is set- 
tled by a prosperous and hard-working class of people, who, 
during the late war, sided with the North. It is now said that 
they will allow none, except white men, to stay, either per- 
manently or as day laborers, in their community. The reason 
given is that they fought to liberate the negro from bondage, 
and, having thus helped him, they wish to be free from all con- 
tact with him. The same feeling prevails in other isolated lo- 
calities through the mountains, one' being on the Little Tennes- 
see, in the region of its lower reaches, near the state line. 

Bakersville, with a population of 500 people, is eight miles 
down from the summit of the Roan. It is situated on Cane 
creek. The town has been in existence only twenty-one years, 
is substantially built up, and growing rapidly. The mica inter- 
ests are doing considerable to enrich it. An Indian town was 
once situated here, and to this day, although unused for 100 
years, the old beaten trail of the red man, leading from Turkey 
Cove to the Nollichucky, is still visible, by the bank of the 
creek, under the bending grasses which grow along its edges, 
but still refuse to spring where the moccasin-footed aborigines, 
for probably centuries, wended back and forth from Tennessee. 

Here, near the village, for one night's encampment, in the 
course of their flight from Morganton, halted the "Franks" 
with " Nollichucky Jack," their spirited and beloved leader. 
The details of his escape from trial are given in another chapter. 



274 I n th e Saddle. 

The 400 acres of valley, in which the town is situated, was a 
land grant of 1778, from North Carolina to William Sharpe and 
John McKnitt Alexander, clerk of the famous Mecklenburg 
convention. The old grant, with the surveyor's plat of date 
September 30, 1770, and the great wax seal of the state at- 
tached, is among the archives of the county. 

The Clarissa mica mine, in operation about three miles from 
the village, is a point of attraction for the tourist. At present 
work is going on more than 400 feet under ground, the passage 
down being through a dismal hole. If you attempt the de- 
scent, the daylight will be appreciated on your return. 

The blocks of mica, after being blasted from the quartz and 
granite walls in which they lie embedded, are brought to the com- 
pany's shop in Bakersville. Here it is again sorted, the bent 
and otherwise worthless mica being thrown aside. That which 
appears merchantable is piled on the table before the workmen. 
Block by block it is taken and split into sheets, sufficiently thin 
to be cut by large iron shears. Specks or flaws in the mica are 
discovered by the workman holding each sheet, in turn, be- 
tween his eyes and the light through a window before him. 
The defects are remedied by again splitting the piece and taking 
off the thin defective layer. When entirely clear it is marked 
off in rectangular shapes, with patterns, and then cut by the 
shears. The sizes are assorted, and then wrapped and tied in 
pound packages. The value of mica ranges from half a dollar 
to three or four dollars per pound, the price depending upon 
the size. 

The Sink-hole mines, near Bakersville, now abandoned, have 
some interesting facts connected with them. Years ago, a series 
of closely-connected, round, basin-like holes in the soil of a 
slope, creating some curiosity as to why and by whom they 
were formed, induced investigations. One was dug into, and 
in the center of its bottom, embedded in the rock, was dis- 



Traces of a Prehistoric People. 2J$ 

covered a vein of mica, which was followed until exhausted. 
The other holes were then worked in turn by the miners, several 
thousand dollars' worth of mica being obtained. All efforts to 
strike the vein, beyond the line of the holes, proved unsuccess- 
ful. There was no mica discovered in the vicinity outside the 
sink-holes. In some of them curious stone tools were found, 
and the surface of the rock, around the mica blocks, in many 
instances, was chipped and worn, as though done by instru- 
ments in the hands of persons trying to extricate the mica. 
These ancient operations are attributed to the Mound Builders. 
In this connection, I had a conversation with Garret Ray, of 
Burnsville, containing the following: 

When a boy, Mr. Ray had his attention attracted by a line of 
stone posts set, with about fifteen feet of space between each, 
on a mountain slope of his father's farm. Years after, upon 
gaining possession of the property, he carried into execution a 
long-cherished idea of investigating the mystery of these posts. 
They marked a valuable mica vein, whose limits did not extend 
beyond them. There was no evidence that the located vein 
had ever been worked. By what surface indications or arts the 
mica was first discovered by the pre-historic practical miners, 
can only be answered by an oracle. 

Many other traces have been discovered through the moun- 
tain country of a people who inhabited it before the advent of 
the Cherokees. Among the numerous mounds to be seen by 
the traveler in the broad valleys of the region, the one at Frank- 
lin undoubtedly takes precedence in shapeliness of outline. A 
few years since it was opened and a quantity of stone tools and 
ornaments taken from it. Eight miles southeast of Franklin, 
in the year 1820, soon after the transfer of that section by the 
Cherokees to the whites, a negro tenant of Silas McDowell, 
while at work plowing, discovered, fifteen inches under ground, 
a stratum of charcoal, and under this a burned clay slab, bear- 



276 • In the Saddle. 

ing on its lower side the imprint of the face and form of a man. 
Unfortunately, the slab, which was seven by four feet in dimen- 
sions, was broken into pieces, thus destroying a relic of untold 
value to the archaeologist. The former inmate of this sepul- 
chre was probably buried and then cremated by the race, ac- 
cording to its religious rites. 

The Pigeon valley has been a great field for the relic hunter. 
Mr. Osborne, living about three^ miles south of the Pigeon 
River station, has, for a number of years, acted as an agent for 
a Richmond gentleman, in collecting the most curious of the 
ornaments and pieces of pottery turned up by the farmer's 
plows. At least 2,000 of these relics have passed through his 
hands. Among a few which the writer saw at Mr. Osborne's 
farm-house, was a group of men seated around a great bowl and 
smoking the pipe of peace. It consisted of one entire piece of 
soapstone, the figures being sculptured- in correct proportions. 
They were raised about three inches above the ground part on 
which they were resting. Another was of two men struggling 
with a bear. Thousands of arrow and spear heads have been 
found in the valley. That the latter have no commercial value 
is evident from the fact that the long walks from the front fence 
to the house of the above mentioned farmer, are paved with 
them. Stone walls upon hill slopes have been unearthed in the 
vicinity. After this digression let us return to the journey. 

The ride, by the nearest road from Bakersville to Burns- 
ville, will lead the traveler for some distance along the banks of 
the Toe river. Deep, wide fords are to be crossed, and lonely 
forests ridden through. To the lover of nature, the solitude of 
some portions of the road will have in them nothing of a de- 
pressing nature. Burnsville is described in another chapter. 
From the latter village the road leads direct to Asheville. The 
dark outlines of the Black mountains are visible throughout a 
great part of the way. The road was in splendid condition 



End of the Ride. 2JJ 

when I traveled over it, and enabled me, with a sound horse, 
to arrive, in good shape, in the county seat of Buncombe, after 
an interesting horse-back journey of more than 300 miles. 



BEYOND IRON WAYS. 



If thou art worn and hard beset 

With sorrows that thou would'st forget, 

If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep 

Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 

Go to the woods and hills ! — No tears 

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 

Longfellow. 

f^AINLY the mountaineers beside the ancient stage-road, 
up the Blue Ridge from McDowell county into Bun 
combe, may listen for the old-time winding of the driver's bugle 
the rumbling of strong-spoked wheels, and the rattling of trace- 
chains ; or wait to see the familiar outlines of four gray horses, 
hallooing reinsman and loaded Concord stage swinging round 
some bold cliff, and drawing nearer up the rich green avenue of 
the forest: the days of staging by this route into Asheville are 
over. But "Jehu" with his prancing steeds and swaying 
coach is not, in this region, a being of the past ; for the whistle 
of the locomotive has only served to drive him further into the 
mountains. 

To those who are little familiar with stage-riding, there is in 

279 



280 Beyond Iron Ways. 

it something of pleasing novelty. I never see the old red vehicle 
lumbering along without having awakened in my mind some one 
of Dickens' many vivid pictures of rapid drives, where, in his 
words: — "Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, 
ruinous buildings, dye-works, tanneries and the like, open coun- 
try, avenues of leafless trees. The hard uneven pavement is 
under us, the soft deep mud on either side. Sometimes, we 
strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the stones that clatter us 
and shake us ; sometimes, we strike into ruts and stick there. 
The wind is rushing after us, and the clouds are flying after us, 
and the moon is plunging after us, and the whole wild night is 
in pursuit of us." 

One of the stage routes, now in operation, is from the present 
terminus of the Western North Carolina railroad at Pigeon 
River, to Waynesville, ten miles distant. If the time-table is 
the same it was when we last traveled over the new-laid rails 
from Asheville, up the Hominy valley, over dizzy trestle-works, 
and burst through a narrow mud-cut between the hills into the 
wide valley of the Pigeon ; — if it is this way, I say, the tourist 
will take a late dinner at a large brick farm-house beside the 
station, and then secure a place with the colored driver on the 
top of the stage. A jolly crowd is packed away inside. Per- 
haps, if you are an agreeable fellow, one of the young ladies 
may prefer a perch outside with you, and thus help to fill up 
the boot and hinder the spread of the reinsman's elbows as he 
rounds some of the coming curves. Trunks and band-boxes 
are piled up behind you. You wave your hand to the land- 
lord ; the driver gives a parting wink at the cook who is peering 
through the shutters of the kitchen ; and then, responsive to the 
*te crack of the whip, the horses start, and whirling behind it 
a cloud of dust, the stage begins its journey. 

There is nothing particularly enchanting about the landscape 
for the next ten miles. The road beneath is beaten hard, and 



From the Stage Top. 28 1 

smooth as a floor. It is not always so agreeable riding over, 
however, for it is of red clay ; and in winter, with snows, thaws, 
and rains, it becomes almost impassible. They tell of empty 
wagons being stalled in places during the inclement seasons. I 
have a vivid recollection of helping, one dark April night, 
to unload a light Jersey wagon, drawn by two stout horses, in 
order to release the hub-deep sunken wheels, and allow us to 
proceed on our way from Waynesville. 

Now a broad valley is whirled through, with humble cottages 
along the way; then a hill is ascended, the stage rising slowh/j 
and then rattling on behind the lively trotting of the horses as 
you pass down the opposite declivity. The driver over moun- 
tain roads always trots his horses going down hill. It is neces- 
sary in order to make up for the delay incurred in the long, 
wearisome ascents, and the horses, in contradiction to first prin- 
ciples, appear to stand up well under it. 

Again you strike the Big Pigeon. Concealed by its wood- 
bordered banks, it has passed through the valley, and now 
through vistas of vines, azaleas, chinquapin bushes, locust and 
beech trees, reveals its limpid waters, swift and slow, in turns, 
as the basin is deep, or a pebble-shingled bottom throws it in 
splashing rapids. Pairs of whistling sand-pipers run teetering 
over the sands, and then fly on down the river at your noisy 
approach; turtle doves, with "shocking tameness," only rise 
from the road when some of the pebbles, struck up by the 
horses, shower around them ; a surly dog, from a weather-worn 
dwelling, leaps through the broken pickets of the fence, and 
for a hundred yards follows, barking, close to the wheels ; long 
open fields extend on one side ; and then the driver, with foot 
on the break, with loud "whoa," stops the sweating horses be- 
fore a country store. He reaches down under his feet, into the 
giant pocket of the stage, and draws forth a pad-locked leather 
mail-bag which he tosses down into the outstretched arms of 



282 Beyond Iron Ways. 

the bare-headed post-master, grocer, and township magistrate 
combined. 

"How yer to-day, squire?" asks the driver. 

"Good. How's yourself ? " 

"Bettah." 

"Who you got inside?" 

"Party from Alabam', I reckon." 

"Where they going?" 

"White Sulphur; an' say, look a heah, foh dis in-foh-ma-shun 
bring me out a twist o' backer." 

The recipient of the bag passes through a crowd of six or 
eight men about the door-way, and enters the store. A few 
minutes elapse in. which the "Jehu" fires some tongue shots 
at the loungers ; then the mail-bag is returned, the foot is taken 
from the break, the whip cracks, and away you go. Another 
store is passed with a saw-mill opposite to it, and the river, 
blocked until it spreads to twice its customary breadth, pour- 
ing and thundering over a substantial dam. The noise of 
waters and the saw is deafening ; then, in a twinkling, it is 
all still, and you are trotting along between green hedges, and 
great clouds of dust envelope the barking dogs which follow. 

Along the way is seen the prepared trail for the iron horse 
which is to supersede stage-travel ; — the great yellow dirt em- 
bankments through the fields ; the deep grading sinking dizzily 
close at the roadside ; the short curves through narrow valleys, 
and the swallowing of it all by the solitary woods. 

If you are fortunate enough to ride with the same good- 
natured driver whom we had, and he is in mellow mood, you 
may be interested for an hour by a story which he is fond of 
telling. For fear that you might get the wrong man, I will tell 
it in condensed form. 

In the fall of 1877, the driver was employed on the stage route 
from Asheville to Henry's. He was an old reinsman, but the 



The Reins man's Story. 283 

road was unfamiliar to him from the fact of his being only lately 
transferred from another branch. One afternoon in November, 
with the highway slippery under-foot from a cold sleet, he left 
Asheville with the heavy stage and a party of five persons in- 
side, — an old, white-haired mar) and four women. He was 
unavoidably delayed at different points, so that, when he began 
the actual descent of the Blue Ridge, a black, cold night en- 
veloped the landscape. With his teeth chattering, he lighted 
the lamps, drew on his gloves again, mounted to his place, and 
began rumbling downward. Over-head the trees creaked and 
groaned in the hollow blast; the horses slipped in turns as they 
pushed along, and the huge stage would occasionally slide, in 
spite of the locked brake, down on the flanks of the rear span. 
Even with this uncomfortable state of affairs, he could have 
driven along without much hazard, but suddenly the lamps 
went out. Through strange carelessness he had forgotten to 
refill them when he left the stables. . The darkness was like that 
of a soundless mine : it was almost palpable. Staggered with 
the situation, he checked his horses. He must go on, but how 
could he? Near at hand he knew was the most dangerous place 
in the whole road, where even a slight pull to one side would 
send the stage and its occupants rolling down a declivity, steep, 
deep and rugged enough to smash the former, and kill every 
one of the latter. The horses, accustomed to the way, might 
possibly be trusted ; but then that possibility ! It was too slip- 
pery to lead them, and besides his foot must be on and off the 
break in turns. It was imperative for him to be at Henry's that 
night, both on account of his express duties and his passengers, 
who would freeze before morning. He sat shivering on the 
stage top. 

He heard the stage door open below, but knew not for what 
reason, nor whose feet were striking the ground, until a voice 
came up out of the pitchy darkness : 



284 Beyond Iron Ways. 

" Why don't you go on ? " 

It was the old gentleman who spoke. 

" Can't. Don't you see de lamps ar' out?" 

" What of that ? We must go on." 

" Dar's a bad pitch right yeh, an' I wouldn't risk hit foh no 
money." 

" Do you know exactly where we are ? I can't distinguish 
anything. " 

" Yes, at de cliff spring." 

" The cliff spring. I remember it. All right;" and, saying 
this, the elderly passenger was climbing up beside the driver. 
" Let me take the reins," he continued. 

" You ! " exclaimed the driver. 

"Yes. I know this road like a book. I've driven over it 
many as dark nights as this, during forty years of my life." 

And as the driver told it to me: " I done jist let dat ole 
man pull dem ribbans outer my han's, an' I hel' onter de brake, 
while he put dose hosses down aroun' dat ben'; an' in less 'en 
an houh we wuz stannin' afoah de Henry hotel. Hit beat de 
debbil how dat wrinkled, rich-lookin' ole fellah driv ! Couldn't 
fine out a ting 'bout him ; no one peered ter know him. An' 
I'm done badgered ter know who he wuz, enny how. He'd 
a made a crackin' ole stage drivah ; an' dar's no use talkin' on 
dat pint! " 

So went the story. Meanwhile your journey is progressing. 
The stage has rattled around a bend, leaving the neat, home-like, 
brick dwelling of Dr. Samuel Love, on the top of a wooded 
hill, beside the road ; and then, before you, stretches an en- 
chanting mountain landscape. On the summit of a plateau-like 
expanse, in the center of the scene, is a picturesque village. 
You see the clustered white frame and brick buildings, with the 
smoke curling above them from home fires ; the modest church 
steeples, and, perhaps, if it is growing dusky, you may hear 



Under Princely Peaks. 28$ 

the mellow chiming of bells through the evening air. Majestic 
mountains rise on all sides into the blue sky. Afar, Old Bald, 
his brethren Balsams, Lickstone mountain, and Mount Serbal, 
lift their heads. In lofty outlines, the Junaluska group of Bal- 
sams stand black against the glowing western sky. Across a 
low, plank bridge, which covers a little stream coming from the 
rabbit-haunted hedges of a valley meadow, — up a mild declivity 
of hill, — through a long, yellow street with dwellings, a church, 
a court-house, a jail, hotels, and stores, on either side, — and you 
are in the center of Waynesville. 

Waynesville, the county-seat of Haywood, is 2,756 feet above 
the ocean. Of the peaks in sight around it, five attain a height 
of 6,000 feet and upwards. Every mountain is clothed from 
base to summit with heavy woods. That chain arising in the 
south in lofty outlines, black with firs, is the Balsam. The Hay- 
wood mountains, bounding the northern line of vision, are, 
owing to their distance, arrayed in purple, and usually crowned 
with white masses of clouds, which at sunset turn to orange, 
run to molten gold and then blazing with scarlet resolve into 
darkness. The village occupies the most elevated portion of 
the plateau. Two parallel streets, crossed by four or five 
shorter ones, make up the general ground-work of the town. 
Interspersed with vacant, weed-grown lots, the dwellings and 
buildings, occupied by about 300 people, face on these winding 
thoroughfares. A few locust trees border the rough, stony 
walks. Apple and peach trees hang over thickly-planted gar- 
dens within the unpainted long board fences before many of the 
houses. 

The head-center for daily congregation seems to be the post- 
office. Its red-mud-splattered front and porch-posts whisper 
of a rainy season and stamping horses to the tourist who stands 
on the hard level road. The mosses on the porch roof also 
speak of dampness and age. Opposite the post-office, in 1882, 



286 Beyond Iron Ways. 

was still standing, intact and in use, the county's venerable 
hall of justice. To some it may appear a sarcasm to use that 
title for it: still, justice is no less likely to preside in pristine 
purity within battered, worm-eaten doors, above a tan-bark floor, 
under a low ceiling, and surrounded by dingy walls, than within 
frescoed ceilings, stone walls and chiseled columns ! 

" For Justice 
All place a temple, and all season, summer! " 

However, the court days for the old hall are past. A new 
and imposing brick structure has just been erected at the north 
end of the village. That an air of enterprise is circulating is 
evident. Numerous new buildings, with fresh-painted or brick 
fronts have lately arisen in place, making striking contrasts with 
the old rookeries of fifty years existence standing here and 
there. 

The village was named in honor of "Mad Anthony" Wayne 
in the long gone years of its birth. Until the last half decade 
of years it has rested in a quiet little less profound than 
that of the dreamy valleys around it. Of late new energy has 
been infused into it. The world beyond the mountain limits of 
this hidden hamlet is beginning to hear of it as a summer re- 
sort. Acting upon this knowledge, the tourists with every 
season now come trooping up from the low-lands. The grading, 
bridges, and embankments for the railroad are all completed, 
and even before ■ many months Waynesville will have the cars 
within its corporate boundaries. 

In all the mountain towns court-week is the marked event of 
the year. There is a spring and fall term. As the counties in- 
crease in population, the two terms are frequently lengthened 
into weeks. At such times the village streets are packed with 
a mass of humanity. The court might well be likened to a 
magnet, the limit to its attraction being the boundaries of the 
county ; and within that circle, during the periods of its opera- 



Coming to Court. 287 

tion, having an irresistible, invisible power to draw every citi- 
zen into the county-seat. They are all there at some interval 
of its proceedings. 

As a court-day in any one of the villages is typical of what is 
seen at such times in all the others, the writer will use as an 
illustration one which he spent in Waynesville. It was at the 
time of the fall term ; the month being October. On the Sun- 
day preceding the opening Monday, the honorable judge, having 
closed court in the neighboring county, drove into the village. 
The usual number of lawyers from scattered villages who go 
on the circuit soon came straggling in on horse-back not far in 
his honor's wake. Later in the evening and the next morning 
others of the profession entered on foot, pursuing this method 
of traveling as though desirous of saving a little money, or per- 
haps having none either to save or spend. The days of the 
circuit are interesting ones for this legal coterie. It has its 
jovial, crusty, bumptious, bashful, boyish, and bald-headed 
members ; old pettifoggers, young shysters, and the brilliant 
and erudite real attorney. The active out-door exercise enjoyed 
in following the court in his rounds tends to make the village 
lawyer a good-natured fellow, and besides, even if his practice 
is poor, he has no exorbitant office rent to worry him. He 
ought certainly to be a healthy, contented specimen of humanity. 

Even before all the shop-keepers had opened their doors and 
swung back their shutters to exhibit newly stocked counters, 
the farming population began pouring in. Now and then the 
broad hat of a man on foot would appear above the crest of the 
hill ; then would follow a strong team of horses drawing a 
white-covered, Pennsylvania wagon ; next, a slow-moving ox 
team with hooped and canvassed vehicle. These tents on wheels 
would disgorge into the street either a whole family or a crowd 
of men evidently from the same neighborhood. On other occa- 
sions they (the wagons), loaded with apples and possibly a bar- 



288 Beyond Iron Ways. 

rel of hard cider, would be longer in getting relieved of their 
contents. The Jerseys of independent valley farmers came 
rattling in at a later hour. The general way of coming to town, 
however, is in the saddle. Horses and mules, with good, easy 
gait, are always in demand through this country, and the num- 
ber of them ranged along the street fences appears strange to 
the Northerner. 

That morning I saw on the street several Indians from the 
banks of Soco creek twenty miles distant. They were not 
arrayed in the picturesque pomp of the savage, but in the garb 
of civilization — home-spun coats and pantaloons, muslin shirts, 
and black hats. One of them, mounted on a stout little bay 
pony, was trying to sell his animal to some one in a crowd of 
horse-traders. Ponies can be purchased of the Cherokees at 
prices ranging from forty to seventy-five dollars. At present, 
however, there are very few of the full-blooded stock in the res- 
ervation. The other aborigines whom I chanced to see Avere, 
with moccasined feet, threading their ways through the crowds 
of lighter-complexioned, blue-clothed dwellers of the forests. 

The strongest drink sold openly during court-week is cider. 
Several wagons, holding barrels containing it, occupy stations 
close by the court-house door. A supply of ginger cake is 
sold with the cider. Whiskey can be procured at the drug 
store, but only on prescription. To the uninitiated it is a mys- 
tery where so many prescriptions come from ; but perhaps a 
certain judge from a lower county, who some time since pre- 
sided in this court, might rise and explain. The judge in ques- 
tion was exhausted from travel and badly under the weather. 
Upon his arrival in the village he dispatched a negro to the 
drug store for a bottle of this singularly accredited panacea for 
all evils. The druggist refused to comply with the request, 
sending back word that he was obliged in all cases to conform 
to the requirements of the law, and that his honor should con- 



Within the Hall of Justice. 289 

suit a physician. Later in the day the judge himself appeared 
at the drug store, and taking a package of paper from his 
pocket, cooly counted off sixteen prescriptions. Said he: 

"I have consulted my physician. You may fill one of these 
now; hang the others on your hook, and fill them as I send 
my order." 

Whether the judge called for them all during the time he pre- 
sided on that bench, is no part of the story. 

In the practice before the bar of the tribunal there is no 
marked difference between the proceedings of the mountain 
county court and those of the courts of other states practicing 
under the code. It has a peculiar but beneficent feature, 
however, in the rapidity with which cases are disposed 
of. One great end of justice, too frequently neglected — 
that wrongs shall be promptly righted — is hereby secured. 
A false and irreversible judgment of the court occurring, as 
may be, upon too hasty examination of a case, is no worse 
for the litigant than the trial of the heart between hope 
and despair for long, weary years before a decision is rendered, 
even though that decision be just. 

I witnessed one murder case disposed of in two days, when, 
anywhere in the North, the same trial would have occupied as 
many weeks. The call of the crier from an upstairs window 
announced that the court was open. During the course of the 
morning I went in. Seats arranged on a scale ascending from 
the lawyers' tables to the rear wall were crowded to overflow- 
ing. The single aisle was filled so that one could hardly elbow 
one's way in. The crowd changed considerably in its make-up 
during the morning session ; for uninterested auditors were 
continually sliding out of one of the handy windows and others 
crawling in to fill the vacancies. Some wormed their way out 
through the aisle. 

In regular routine, cases were called, facts stated by attor- 



290 In the Saddle. 

neys, usual examination and brow-beating of witnesses, wrang- 
ling of counsel, hammering for order by the sheriff, the old 
practitioner's quiet and plausible argument to the drowsy jury, 
the spread-eagle burst of oratory on the part of the fresh blos- 
somed sprig of the law, the charge of the judge (which, in 
truth, is generally the settlement of the whole proceeding), and 
then the departure of the twelve confused peers to a house on 
.a back street, or a vacant lot near by, where, on a pile of lum 
ber, they revolve the abstruse questions involved and bring in 
a verdict according to the facts. (?) Judgment pronounced 
forthwith, or suspended on motion. 

At 12 o'clock the court adjourned, and the crier appearing at 
the front door gave vent in high-strung monotone to the fol- 
lowing : "Hear ye! hear ye! This honorable court is now 
adjourned." Here he took breath and went on again : "The 
good people of Haywood will take notice that at 2 o'clock the 
Honorable General Clingman will address them on the issues of 
the day ! ' ' 

This sounded queer to a stranger ; court adjourning to give 
way for a political speech. A number of elections were to take 
place in November. It was fit that the people should be pre- 
pared to cast their ballots with discretion. In accordance with 
this view, during that fall term of court, the respective candi- 
dates of either party for the offices of solicitor, representative, 
senator, and state offices were given the afternoons of the 
session to enlighten the populace with their wisdom on state 
and municipal affairs, and sway them with their eloquence. 
With the afternoon speeches, ended the court day. 

The White Sulphur Spring Hotel is three-quarters of a mile 
from the village. It was by the stage line that we approached 
it in the summer of 1882. The mail-bags had been flung down 
to the good-natured-looking post-master, and several passengers 
distributed at the hotels on the village street, when we turned 



The White Sulphur Springs. 291 

down a hill toward Richland creek, first passing several plain 
dwellings and two churches. One of the churches (the Epis- 
copal) is a well-built little house of worship. The creek must 
be forded, and then follows a delightful stretch of road along 
its banks, until, after swinging around several corners, rattling 
over rivulet bridges, speeding by a house or two on knolls in 
fields, we passed through a frame gate into the grounds of the 
Sulphur Spring. 

The grounds are naturally adapted for a summer resort. A 
grand forest, principally of oaks, covers about eight acres of 
level ground, through which, with green sward on either hand, 
winds the road toward the hotel. The hotel is a large farm- 
house, remodeled and added to until its original proportions and 
design are lost. Near it, at the foot of a low wooded hill, is a 
line of cottages connected with the main structure simply by a 
graveled walk, which also leads to the sulphur spring bubbling 
up in a stone basin within a small summer-house. There is a 
comfortable, healthy air about the hotel and its surroundings. 

Close in the rear of the resort buildings rises a line of moun- 
tains, lofty in height, but forming only the foot-hills to the 
Junaluska group. The highest' pinnacle of the foot-hill range 
is Mount Maria, so named in honor of the wife of Major W. 
W. Stringfield, the proprietor of the Spring property. From 
the wide porches of the hotel sublime mountain prospects can 
be obtained. A smooth, cultivated valley, a mile or more in 
length, by a half-mile wide, fills the foreground to these views. 
Some portions of it are covered with corn, and in the meadows 
are generally grazing a hundred head of cattle. A pleasant 
pastoral air prevades this foreground picture set in the emerald 
frame of the forests. And then in the distance is discerned the 
green front of Mount Serbal, and beyond it the black summits 
of the Richland Balsam mountains. Just across the creek, 



292 Beyond Iron Way •s. 

which flows outside the grounds, lies the prepared railroad bed. 
It is only a minute's walk from it to the hotel. 

Of all country roads for quiet rambles or delightful horse- 
back rides, there are none in the mountains to excel the one up 
Richland creek, from the White Sulphur Spring, to the base of 
Old Bald. The forests all along the stream are cool and refresh- 
ing. Where the road comes down to its fords under the con- 
cealing chestnuts and oaks, long foot-logs reach from bank to 
bank. The old mill at one of these fords presents a picture for 
the artist— the brilliant beech that rustles around it; the crystal 
race; the roar in the flume; the piles of old logs and scattered 
timber ; and the open, dingy front of the structure itself. 

On crossing the state road, the Richland creek road enters a 
large, unfenced forest, where nearly every evening, in spring, 
summer, or fall, teamsters, who are either farmers or root buy- 
ers, encamp for the night. Their Pennsylvania wagons are like 
great white-covered scows strangely mounted on wheels. At 
night, with the light of camp fires thrown on them, they are 
spectral in their whiteness. Often, in the darkness of the forest, 
while on our way from the village to our temporary home in 
the country, we have suddenly run upon these encampments 
after their fires have smouldered, and only been awakened to a 
knowledge of their presence by the sharp barking of wakeful 
dogs. 

One particular night, well worth remembering, I was return- 
ing on foot from Waynesville after a late wait there for the 
irregular evening mail. It was cloudy and quite dark, even where 
the state road, which I was trudging over, runs between open 
fields. On branching into the Richland creek road and into the 
forest just mentioned, the change to still deeper darkness would 
have made it difficult for me to avoid stumbling over the rocks 
that here and there are scattered on the way, and even to keep 
clear of tree boles, if the bright light of a high fire had not 



Around the Camp Fire. 295 

illuminated the outer margin of the wood. Under a gigantic 
poplar two large white wagons were visible, and between them 
was the fire. A group of men was seated near it. At my ap- 
proach two dogs sprang up growling from the scattered hay 
where the horses were feeding, but at the warning yell of some 
one who was evidently their master, they became quiet again. 
The group consisted of four men seated on the end boards 
taken from the wagons, and laid on the ground. They were 
playing cards, and having a good time. I was about to pass 
on, but recognizing the face and voice of one member of the 
party, I stepped up to them, and was in turn recognized by 
him. 

"Wal, glad to see you," said he, dropping the pack of 
cards he was dealing, and jumping to his feet. 

" Howdy ! " exclaimed the others in turn as I spoke to each. 
"Why, what are you skulking round the woods so late at night 
for?" continued the first speaker. 

He was a good-natured and intelligent young man, by name 
Upson, whom I had met once before in an adjoining county at 
a country store, where he was exchanging dry-goods and tin- 
ware for ginseng, Solomon's snake roots, herbs and mica. I 
answered his question, and upon urgent invitation seated my- 
self by the fire. Two of the party were going to Asheville to 
attend Federal court. The elderly man and owner of one 
wagon was journeying in company with the young trader and 
his wagon to the Asheville market. The interrupted game of 
seven-up was never resumed. In the course of conversation 
Upson spoke of mica mining, and after stating that he was a 
Georgian, and had been in the mountains only a few years, he 
related a thrilling story, which I will give as nearly as possible 
in his own words, and call it 



296 Beyond Iron Ways. 

THE HAUNTED CABIN. 

On one of the highest ridges of the Nantihala mountains, 
twenty-five miles from Franklin, Tabal and I had been out 
prospecting for mica for several days. With a blanket apiece, 
a pick, a spade and a quantity of provisions we had left the 
valley, intending to open a spot on the mountain, where mica 
had been discovered cropping out. All the afternoon of the 
26th of February, and all day of the 27th, we worked at the 
surface mica, and had followed a promising vein of the mineral 
for several feet into the crumbling rock. The weather had 
been fine, and the night of the last mentioned date came on 
with fair and clear skies. Wrapped in our blankets, we slept 
by a roaring fire, under a shelving rock, in a thicket of black 
firs. By morning the weather had changed ; a cold wet wind 
was sighing through the pines ; the sky was overcast with dull 
heavy clouds, and the last day of February bid fair to end in a 
snow storm. 

Tabal was rather uneasy, and wished to start for the settle- 
ment immediately ; but with a nicely sorted-out pile of mica at 
our feet, and a solid block twelve inches square shining from 
the bottom of the excavation, I insisted on remaining until 
there was a decided change for the better or worse ; so, after 
our morning repast, we went steadily to work again. 

We did not notice the increasing coldness of the wind, and 
were only awakened to a sense of our dangerous position, when 
snow began to fall. To be caught on a mountain summit over 
6,000 feet high in a snow storm was something little to be 
desired ; and, with that idea, Tabal threw down his pick and 
proposed starting with haste for the settlement. Affairs did 
look threatening, and I concluded that his proposition was not 
to be despised. Hiding our tools and mica, with our blankets 
over our shoulders, we struck out on the trail for the valley. 

The snow fell thicker and faster around us ; and at the end 



A Welcome Shelter. 297 

of our first mile it was an inch deep. The way-worn path 
beneath our'feet was of the same appearance as the forest slopes, 
all seeming one open wilderness, with nothing but occasional 
blazes on the scrub-oak tree trunks to mark the path of descent. 
Tabal needed nothing", of the kind to find his way. So familiar 
is he with the whole range that, in the darkest night he could 
reach the valley without a wandering footstep. After two 
hours of slow travel the snow lay shoe-mouth deep, and the 
bitter wind, as it swept across the ridges, chilled and buffeted 
us, until, half frozen, with wet and benumbed feet, exhausted 
by ten miles of wading, and bruised by falls and slides, I felt 
my strength giving way. It was then half-past four by my 
watch ; the snow was a foot in depth, and still falling. 

"Only three mile further," said my companion, when he 
noticed how I was lagging in my pace, "and we'll fetch up at 
Ramear's cabin. Cheer up, man, an' in a few minutes we'll be 
all right, I 'low." 

With this encouragement I quickened my footsteps and 
struggled on. Another mile had been slowly reeled out behind 
us ; we had left the ridge and were in a hollow or cove, when a 
cabin suddenly appeared before us. 

The place was one of the wildest and dreariest of the moun- 
tains. On one side rose a forest of balsams, with somber 
foliage covered with the white mantle of the storm ; almost 
perpendicularly upward it trended. Tangled laurel spread over 
the bottom land, and interwoven with the ivy, hedged the 
banks of a stream fresh from its sources. On the other side a 
rocky bluff, crowned with snow and clad in evergreen vines, 
loomed up like the crumbling wall of some ancient castle, with 
its summit lost in the veil of the falling snow. 

The cabin was jammed into a niche of this wall some twenty 
feet above the path we were following. It was a log hut of 
the humblest pretensions, tottering from age and decay on its 



298 Beyond Iron Ways. 

rock foundation. In the shadow of the precipice, most gloomy 
it appeared, with its snow-burdened roof, moss-grown front, 
rough-plastered log chimney, and doorless entrance opening 
into a black interior. It looked to have been deserted a score 
or more of years, and its surroundings, unkept by the hand of 
man, by Nature were again being trained into primitive wildness. 
Axataract came pouring down by the cabin's site. A regular 
ascent of steps led up to it through the laurel. 

In spite of the place's uninviting aspect, I welcomed it as a 
safe refuge from the storm and the night. Tabal seemed not 
to see it, and was plodding steadily ahead a few feet in advance 
of me. 

"Hold on ! " I called. "Here is a shelter for the night. No 
need of going further." 

He turned with a strange expression in his face. 

"For God sake, don't stop hyar ! We must go on. Noth- 
in' could hire me to stop in thet 'air shell." 

His set determined way of speaking, together with his 
words, I could not at that time account for, and without wait- 
ing for an explanation, replied : ' ' Stop here we must, in 
half an hour 'twill be night," and pushing through the snow- 
burdened laurel, in a few steps I gained the cabin door. 

A violent hand was laid on my shoulder that instant. My 
blanket was almost torn from my grasp, and I reeled backward, 
with difficulty rescuing myself from falling. 

It was Tabal who had thus struck me. Taken by surprise at 
his uncalled-for action, I could but listen to what he said. 

"Come, come, we must make tracks from this place! You'd 
better die in the snow a peaceful death than be toted away by 
hants. Thar be a power 'o hants hyar. I've seed 'em an' 
seed blood, blood ! on the floor ; and nary man in the settle- 
ment but what's heerd 'em. Don't for all ye love in the world, 



Defying "Hants." 299 

don't stop hyar, but foller me and in two mile we'll be at 
Ramear's." 

As he finished his excited remarks, with one hand still on 
my shoulder, he was standing partly in the cabin ; while I, puz- 
zled at his extraordinary statement, and with the earnest, 
almost desperate, manner in which he urged me to leave the 
spot, had sunk down on a half-rotten log that lay across the 
doorway. I really could have gone no further if I had wished, 
and instead of what I had heard from him awakening my fears 
and strengthening me to travel 'on, it aroused my curiosity to 
remain and see upon what his superstition was based. 

On making known to him my exhausted condition and deter- 
mination to remain, an abject terror overspread the mountain- 
eer's face, and for several minutes there was a struggle within him 
whether to stay and brave the well known horrors of the place, 
or to expose his cowardice by leaving and pushing on alone in 
the darkness and driving snow. The latter alternative did not 
hold out very bright prospects, and in spite of professed super- 
stition, mountaineers dread nothing much more than being 
called cowards. Meanwhile I laughed down and shamed his 
fears, and the bribe of a half gallon of "moonshine" completed 
the business. 

The gloom of the continuing storm, and the rapidly approach- 
ing night, rendered the gorge almost destitute of light. Every 
minute it grew darker, but objects about the interior of the 
cabin were still distinguishable. There was but one room, with 
rotten board floor, strewed with the mouldering leaves of sev- 
eral autumns, and grown with moss along the edges of the 
walls. Fungi choked the interstices between the logs, and over 
them snow had sifted, and fallen in streaks upon the floor. An 
unboarded window opposite to the solitary door looked out 
upon the grim, stony cliff that rose not ten feet away. A fire- 
place, filled with snow, was at the end of the room, and over 



300 Beyond Iron Ways. 

three-fourths of the apartment was a loft, rather shaky in ap- 
pearance. 

We scraped the snow from the hearth ; Tabal, under my in- 
structions, tore off a pile of well-seasoned boards from the loft 
floor, and soon a crackling fire brightened and cheered the in- 
terior of the cabin. My companion was now more at his ease, 
and spreading our blankets, we laid down with our feet to the 
grateful fire. 

As I spread out my blanket I noticed a pool of fresh blood, 
fully two feet in diameter on the floor by my hand, I covered 
it instantly, fearful that Tabal might see it. How did it come 
there ? 

"Tabal," I said, "tell me now what you meant by this hut 
having ghosts or ' hants ' as you term them ; and why do you 
think it so haunted?" 

He responded with a long story which I will make short: 
The cove had been cleared thirty years before by Cummings, a 
denizen of the mountains. One night when he was on a spree 
in the settlement, his wife, in a crazy fit, hung herself to a cabin 
rafter. Cummings, with his household property and progeny, 
deserted the premises, and for many years the cabin remained 
unoccupied, until a party of hunters made a night's lodging 
there, and in an altercation a man named Gil True was instantly 
killed by an enraged companion. Strange sights and sounds 
were connected with it after the first death, and more after the 
second. Every superstitious old woman told some terrible tale 
about it, until it had become known throughout the country as 
the "haunted" cabin. 

After this narrative the train of thoughts which it awakened 
and the strangeness of my situation prevented me from going 
immediately to sleep, and hours elapsed before I was in the 
arms of " Nature's fond nurse." Tabal's regular snoring I sup- 
pose put me in that condition. 



Supernatural Occurrences. 30 1 

How long I slept I know not, but I awoke with a start. 
Terrible, blood-curdling cries, like those from a woman or 
child in distress, came from the end of the room opposite 
the chimney. 

The fire was still blazing, and by it I saw that Tabal was 
awake, lying half raised from his blanket, and with eyes fixed 
on the back of the room, was intent on listening. Several 
piercing cries, with intervals between, rang out, and the last 
one had just died down, when there was a sound of some heavy 
body falling on the roof, a rumble, then a terrific crash, after 
which all was darkness, blackest darkness in the room. 

Successive creakings of the cabin, and sputterings and hiss- 
ings from the fire-place ensued. 

I attempted to call out but could not. 

I leaned over and reached, in the darkness, for my companion. 
He was not there — nowhere on his blanket, which I felt still 
unrolled. I groped around the room. ■ 

Nothing ! 
"The room was deserted, and I was alone in the haunted cabin. 

I leaned out of the door. It was as black outside as in. 
Again I attempted to call, and then my voice broke from me. 
The halloo rang out, echoed along the cliff, and instantly 
seemed swallowed by the night ; but no answer came. 

With these efforts courage returned, and I stepped back into 
the center of the apartment. As I did so, I heard a fall on the 
window, then one on the floor, and the pit-pat of feet sounded 
plainly as something brushed against my legs, and shot with 
sudden velocity out of the cabin door. 

" What else," I thought ; " what other unaccountable things 
were to happen? Tabal was right ; the cabin is haunted." 

I drew out a large clasp-knife from my pocket, opened it, and 
retreated to one corner of the room. I stirred not, scarcely 
breathed. For hours I stood there, as rigid as a statute. Again 



302 Beyond Iron Ways. 

the foot-falls resounded through the room ; again a fall on the 
window by the cliff — then death-like stillness again intervened. 

In the black, unbroken silence, I heard nothing but the ac- 
tion of my heart, thumping, thumping, till it seemed it would 
beat the breath from my chest, and all the while I was, in vain, 
seeking a solution for these mysteries of the night. Where was 
Tabal ? What caused the blood spots, the horrible cries, the 
crash, the fire's extinguishment, and the foot-falls ? " 

Gray light began to sift in. It grew stronger, brighter, and 
the light of morning filled the room. Black objects assumed 
regular outlines, became distinct, regained theii natural shapes, 
and everything around me was revealed. There lay the tum- 
bled blankets ; the fire-place filled a foot high with snow. I 
started. The crash and following darkness were explained. A 
snow slide off the cliff had struck the roof and then fallen down 
the chimney. 

I went to the door. A man's footprints long and far be- 
tween, led from the door-step down through the laurel. Tabal 
had disappeared in that direction. I expected to see footprints 
besides those of the mountaineer, — the footprints of the owner 
of the footfalls in the night, — but none were there, at least, no 
human tracks, but, instead, in the snow were prints like those 
of a dog. What did this mean? 

I ran to the window. The same impressions were on the 
snow-covered sill, and then beyond on the near ledge of the 
cliff. Some animal had entered by the window, rushed through 
the cabin, and then re-entering, had retreated by the same way 
to the cliff. That it was a wild-cat or panther I was convinced; 
and this conviction was strengthened when my mind reverted 
to the cries, which were similar to those made by the cat 
species. 

The whole mystery seemed cleared up. The wild, rugged 
precipice held on its face a den of panthers ; the cabin was 



A Panther Hunt. 303 

another retreat of theirs, and the bloody pool on the floor was 
the mark of some recent feast. 

Gathering up the blankets I followed in Tabal's footprints for 
half a mile, when I met him coming towards me with the set- 
tler he had remained with during a part of the previous night. 
My appearance to him was like one raised from the dead. We 
returned to the cabin, and my conclusions were confirmed by 
their immediate affirmations that, " nairy varmint but a painter 
hed made them tracks, an' they 'lowed the cabin mought not 
be hanted arter all." 

Soon after this night's adventure, a systematic hunt was 
organized; and in the chase four panthers which had had their 
hereditary den in the cliff's face were killed. With this slaugh- 
ter all reasonable fears of the cabin's being haunted vanished, 
and now it is made the usual rendezvous for hunters driving 
bears or deer in that locality. 



"Wal," exclaimed one of the Federal court witnesses, 
"thet's a blamed good way to git red o' hants ! " 

"Now," said Upson, directing his speech toward me, "we 
would like to hear from you." 

"I have no personal experience to relate," I replied, "but 
can tell you something, similar in nature to your story, as it 
was told me by an old resident of Graham county." 

Immediately there was a hearty invitation extended me to. 
begin ; so without ceremony I preluded what follows with the 
announcement that the tale was the one of 

THE PHANTOM MILLERS. 

Three years ago, while taking a tramp through the wilderness 
of the Santeetlah and Unaka mountains, I stopped for a few 
days with an intelligent, elderly farmer on the bank of Cheowah 
river. One pleasant afternoon, during the time of my visit, I 
took a ramble with my host over his extensive farm. Through 



304 Beyond Iron Ways. 

the cool woods, upward along the roaring stream, we slowly- 
walked for probably half a mile, when suddenly the rough 
wagon-trail we were following led away from the river; and, look- 
ing through the thick undergrowth in the direction where with 
redoubled roar the waters still kept their way, I saw the out- 
lines of an old building. 

"What ancient looking structure is that?" I asked, pointing 
toward it. 

"That," my companion answered, "is a worn out mill." 

"Why," I returned, "this is the first mill I have noticed on 
the river. It does, in fact, appear dilapidated ; but, looking at 
the heavy thickets and tall trees that stand so close to it, I 
should think that at the time it was abandoned it might have 
been in pretty good condition. See, there's a tree apparently 
fifteen years old thrusting its whole top through a window, and 
the casements that are around it are not yet rotted away." 

"You are a close observer," said Mr. Staley, "but, never- 
theless, we quit running that mill because it couldn't be worked." 

"Why so?" I asked with interest. 

"Because it was haunted!" 

" Haunted! A haunted mill ! " 

"Yes, sir; the subject is one I don't like to commence on, 
but I suppose now you must hear it." 

" Yes, by all means, but wait first till I see the mill." 

I pushed through the tangled thickets under the scrubby 
oaks, and a minute after stood before the structure. It was a 
mill which even at this date would, if new, have been suited to 
a more open country. The side that faced us was farthest from 
the river. One door, up to which rotten steps led, and two 
windows, through one of which the tree before mentioned, 
spread its heavy limbs, were on the front. The siding was fall- 
ing and hanging loosely in places from the upright timbers, and 
the entire structure was fast becoming a skeleton, for all the 



Over the Green, Rotten Mill Wheel. 305 

clapboards had been torn by the wind or thievish hands from 
the three remaining sides. The roof, in part, had fallen in, but 
had been caught by the shaky stringers of the upper, half-story 
floor. The spot on the. river bank was peculiarly suited for a 
mill site. The channel of the stream above was rock bound, 
the banks being steep and narrow. Just before it reached the 
mill the body of waters compressed into an impetuous volume, 
shot over a fall of twenty feet. An outlet had been blasted 
through the solid rock close by the side of the fall, and a 
wooden race set up leading to the mill. This race had long 
since disappeared, worn away by time and water. The old 
wheel, though, hung in its place beside the structure almost 
under the fall, and above the mad waters, boiling and foaming 
below. 

Going around to one of the sides, we managed to clamber in 
and on the plank floor. There was half a partition through 
the center, forming on either side two rooms, each about 
20x25 feet in dimensions. The mill-stones were yet in place, 
but the hopper and grain bins were missing. 

We seated ourselves on the floor at the back side of the build- 
ing, and with our feet hanging over the green, rotten wheel, 
with the thin spray of the cataract now and then touching us, 
and the turbulent river sweeping .onward below, he began as 
follows : 

"When I came here from Charleston, South Carolina, and 
settled, in the spring of 184- the first thing I found necessary, 
after building my house, was a mill. "As many families, appar- 
ently, lived in these valleys then as live here now. I was com- 
pelled to go to Murphy, a distance of eighteen miles, to get 
my flour and meal, or take my grain to a primitive hopper, two. 
miles below on this river, and wait a day for it to grind a bushel. 
Either was an exasperating procedure. This site seemed the 
best adapted one along the river. The race was formed, a 



306 Beyond Iron Ways. 

foundation laid, and, by the aid of a temporary saw, enough 
lumber was gotten out to finish this mill complete by the fol- 
lowing summer. 

"Well, time went by; the mill run smoothly, and with it I 
managed to make enough to keep my family. One morning, 
however, on entering here I saw that the wheel, which I left 
running for the night, in order to grind out an extra amount of 
meal, had stopped, while the water was still pouring on it. On 
examination I found the dead body of a young man, a farmer, 
who lived on the slope of Deer mountain, hanging fastened to 
the lowest paddle of the wheel. All that could be learned of 
his untimely end was that he had left home for an evening's 
trout-fishing the day before. He had undoubtedly fallen into 
the deep, swift stream above ; had been drowned ; swept through 
the race down on to the wheel ; and, his clothes catching on the 
splintered paddle, he had hung there. 

"A short time after- the last sad occurrence, a neighbor's 
boy fell through the trap door and broke his neck. Supersti- 
tious people then began to whisper that a spell was on 
the place. They had had, as yet, no ocular demonstration 
of what they imagined and reported, but .such was the 
influence that my mill was avoided at night, travelers beating a 
new path around it through the forest. Of course, this talk 
had no effect upon me, and in fact I rather liked it, for, as far as 
I was able to perceive, it kept a class of indigent mountaineers 
away from the mill, whom I had reason before to suspect of 
grinding their corn surreptitiously at night. 

"But in the spring of 1861 something really strange did 
occur. My youngest brother was one day with me at the mill. 
I had left him inside here while I had gone some distance back 
into the woods to get a second-growth hickory. Probably half 
an ho ur had passed and I was returning, when just before com- 
ing in sight of the mill I heard angry voices. One voice was 



A Night of Terror. 307 

that of my brother, the other I could not recognize ; neither 
had I time to consider, for suddenly the report of a fire-arm 
sounded in that direction. I hallooed loudly at the moment I 
heard it, and at the same time came out of the wood. A com- 
paratively clear space, with the exception of a few large trees, 
was between me and the mill. I saw no one near but my 
brother, and he was leaning partly out the front window there, 
where now grows the red maple. 

" ' Halloo ! what have you shot ?' I shouted. 

"There was no answer. 

' ' The day was growing terribly dark. Black clouds, heavy 
with moisture, were filling and piling deep the entire face of 
the sky between these circling mountains. The lightning had 
not yet begun to play, but it would not have taken a prophet 
to tell of its speedy coming. 

4 ' I was somewhat surprised at hearing no return to my salute ; 
and as I drew nearer I noticed that his face was deadly pale. I 
ran up the steps. I caught hold of him. He had fainted. I 
laid him in the doorway. My first thought was that he had 
been shot by some one and was in a death faint. I tore his shirt 
open, discovering a small red mark under the nipple. Five 
minutes after he was a corpse. But where was he who fired 
the fatal shot? I had seen no one, and in vain I looked around 
the mill. 

" Meanwhile the storm burst with appalling fury. One of 
the first flashes of lightning struck a monarch ash, whose decay- 
ing stump stands just over there, not thirty feet from the mill's 
front. In some manner it struck the tree and ran down its 
bark, then cut through its base, or struck the bole at once ; 
for the whole body of the ash fell with a resounding crash. I 
was knocked down and blinded for an instant by the electricity. 
It was the hardest rain that has drenched these mountains since 



308 Beyond Iron Ways. 

1840. All night long it continued, and I remained in the mill 
with my dead brother. 

"It must have been past midnight when, in the pitchy dark- 
ness, I heard hoarse cries, hollow shouts, and groans, that 
seemed to proceed from without the mill, but which swept 
through the open rooms with chilling and horrible earnestness. 
The building shook in the wind and storm ; the doors rattled 
on their hinges ; the cataract's roar increased with the swelling 
flood ; but yet above all these deafening sounds, at intervals, 
rang this muffled voice. I must confess that I laid it to the 
supernatural. 

"Morning and calm came together, and with the first streaks 
of light two of my farm-hands appeared. The storm had made 
a havoc before the mill. Lengthways, and down the center of 
the road the ash had fallen, the body of the tree lying close 
against the base of that great hollow oak you see still standing. 
We carried the body home. Who had killed him was the un- 
answered question on every one's lips. Well, we buried the 
mysteriously murdered man in the old churchyard down the 
river, and the day after I went on business to Murphy. As 
fortune would have it I was just in time to be drafted into the 
Confederate army. I had only a day to spare to go to my 
house and return. 

" The occurrences of that stormy night had unavoidably kept 
me away from the mill, and on my flying visit home be- 
fore taking a long departure, I had no time to go to it. My 
wife told a strange story of ghostly cries, strange flames and 
apparitions which had been heard and seen at the mill for two 
nights by one of the farm-hands and a neighbor. Nothing 
could hire any of the men in the neighborhood to go near the 
place, even in the daytime. The description of the sounds 
coincided singularly with what I had heard. Having no time 
to investigate, and thinking these fears would wear away, I left 



Watching for the Apparitions. 309 

orders for one of the hired men to run the mill during my 
absence. 

" Four years passed, and I had returned from the war. What 
changes had taken place is not my intention to relate only to 
speak of the mill. The fears of the mountaineers had caused 
it to be abandoned. The one whom I had designed to work it 
had wholly disregarded my orders. By a train of petty cir- 
cumstances connected with this man's refusal to run the mill, 
together with the superstitious ideas of the people, all the moun- 
taineers began to take their grain to the lower "corn-cracker." 
This course was not adopted by all until several of the more 
venturesome ones had actual, unexplainable encounters with 
ghosts at my mill. 

' ' A few days after my return I went up to look at the for- 
saken .place. I found the underbrush rather heavy, fair-sized 
trees springing up, the old ash lying undisturbed where it had 
been struck down, and consequently the old road was lost. 
Everything within the mill, though, was in excellent condition. 
What struck me as curious was that the mill appeared never to 
have stopped running ; for the stones were not mossed in the 
least, but on the contrary were still white with flour. The 
floor was also white, and a close observer would at once have 
declared that a supply of wheat had been ground there that 
week. 

"'Jistso, ' said an old neighbor who was with me. 'In 
course these hyar stones never quit runnin' at night, ez I tole 
yer ; but hit ain't no humin bein's ez runs 'em. Many a night 
I've cum up the new road over yander, an' stopped an' shivered 
as I heered the ole wheel splashin' round, seed lights an' seed 
yer brother standin' right hyar at this winder, I'll swar ! Why 
didn't I sarch into the matter? Didn't I though! But the 
hants all fled when I cum near, and nuthin' but an owl hooted 
overhead ; an' one night I war knocked flat by some devil un- 



3 10 Beyond Iron Ways. 

seen, an' next thing I knowed I woke up a mile from hyar. Ye 
don't catch me foolin' round sich things.' 

' ' He went on to tell how the meal, which he had ground in the 
daytime, had made persons sick, and also helped to stop bus- 
iness. That night I determined to watch the ghostly millers 
in their midnight toils. A man named Bun volunteered to stay 
with me. Just after dark we came up here and ensconced our- 
selves in a close thicket near the fall, and about fifty feet from 
the mill. The hours passed by monotonously. It was late in 
the night, when suddenly, above the dull roar of the fall, I 
heard an owl's hoot up the river road. This would not have 
attracted my attention, had not another hoot sounded at once 
from down the road, and then another came from just before the 
mill. Nothing further was heard to these calls, which I deemed 
were signals ; but, a few moments after, a light flared up in the 
mill, and through the unboarded side we saw two figures in 
white garments. 

"'Let's steal out of this,' whispered Bun, in a trembling 
voice. ' Didn't I say it war ha'nted ? ' 

' ' I commanded him to remain silent if he loved his life. The 
wheel was started, and the two ghosts began to pour corn from 
a bag into the hopper. I had no idea that they were anything 
but living men ; but the light was faint. Their faces were 
covered with some white substance, and I failed to recognize 
them. A little reason began to creep into Bun's superstitious 
brain. We crept closer. Then we saw that they were talking, 
and their voices reached us. The sounds dazed me, and I 
started as if shot. It was not our language these shadows con- 
versed in ; it was a strange tongue, but I recognized it. It was 
the dialect of the Cherokees ! 

Under the impulse of the discovery, I leveled my rifle, aimed 
the barrel in the darkness, and fired. Both millers stopped in 
their work, and in an instant an intense darkness wrapped the 



Light on the Mysteries. 3 1 1 

scene, followed by a crashing in the thickets on the farther side 
of the mill. Several owl hoots ensued, then all was silent. 
Having no means of procuring a light, we did not venture to 
enter the mill that night, but quickly found our way home. The 
next morning I returned here at an early hour. A bag of corn, 
some ground meal, and a few drops of blood on the floor, were 
what I discovered in the grinding-room ; these were enough to 
convince the most skeptical of the mountaineers of the truth 
of what Bun and I related of our night's adventure. 

' ' The conclusion drawn was this : A settlement of half-civil- 
ized Cherokees over the mountains, being in need of a mill, 
taking advantage of this one being unused, and also of the 
mountaineers' fears, had, by managing to play the role of spec- 
tres, secured a good mill, rental free, for two or three years. 

"My shot that night, together with a sharp watch kept up 
for some time, during which we fired, on two occasions, at 
parties approaching the place after' dark, had the desired effect, 
and the mill was run no more." 

" But who killed your brother? What were the cries that 
you heard? And why was the mill, after you discovered who 
the millers were, deserted?" I asked. • 

"The murder remained a mystery until a few days after we 
drove out the Indians. The discovery occurred in this way: 
I determined to have the old road cleared out and go to work- 
ing again. The fallen ash was first attacked. As we rolled 
away a severed part of it from before the hollow in that oak, 
standing there, one of the choppers noticed a pair of boots in 
the rotten wood within the hollow. He pulled them out and a 
full skeleton was dragged with them. Part of the clothes was 
still preserved on this lately securely-sepulchred corpse. A 
revolver was also scraped out the rubbish. It was the body of 
a man who had disappeared four years since, as believed up to 
that time, for the war. 



312 Beyond Iron Ways. 

"Of course, I had no doubt but he was the murderer of 
my brother. He had fired the shot ; heard my rapid approach, 
and, knowing that to step from behind the tree would reveal 
himself, he squeezed up into the hollow trunk of the old oak. 
The lightning played the part of a slow executioner. It was 
probably some time before he attempted to make exit from his 
confinement. His endeavors, of course, were fruitless. Then 
he began calling in his terror for help. These were the cries I 
heard during that stormy night. Afterwards he probably be- 
came unconscious through fright. His dreadful cries at intervals 
for a few days were what startled the mountaineers, who, had 
they been less superstitious, might have rescued him from a 
horrible lingering death. His motive in taking the life of my 
brother remains a mystery. 

"This revelation sickened me, and reviving, as it did, sad 
recollections, I had the men stop work for a few days. In 
that time a heavy flood aided in breaking down and sweeping 
away the worn-out race. I never attempted to repair it, and 
the old mill was left to rot and molder in solitary idleness." 



We had been so engaged with the stories that the rising 
of the wind had passed unnoticed, and suddenly a few rain 
drops fell upon us and the fire. I was about to resume my 
walk, but was prevailed upon to remain, because of the storm. 
It began pouring in a few minutes; and, crawling with two of 
the party into one of the wagons, in spite of the novelty of the 
situation, I enjoyed a sound sleep on a pile of herb bags and 
under the rain-beaten wagon-cover. 

The valley watered by that prong of Richland creek, which 
rises in the balsams of the Great Divide and beech groves of 
Old Bald, is one of great beauty. It is quite narrow. The 
stream flows through its center, overhung with oaks, buckeyes, 
beeches, maples, black gums, and a dozen other varieties of 



Micadale. 313 

trees, and fringed with laurel, ivy, and the alder; while at 
intervals cleared land's roll back to the mountains. Lickstone, 
with gentle slope, walls it on one side; a lofty ridge on the 
other, and the black front of the Balsams shuts off at its south- 
ern end all communication with what lies beyond, except by a 
steep winding trail and unfinished dug road over a mountain 
5,786 feet in altitude. The road along the creek's bank, up- 
ward from the place of nightly encampments, possesses all the 
charms of a woodland way. At places the umbrageous branches 
of monarch trees cross themselves overhead ; beautiful vistas of 
a little stream, streaked with silver rapids and losing itself 
under the bending laurels, are presented at every turn ; at inter- 
vals, branch roads wind away into some mountain cove; and 
here and there, disappearing into leafy coverts, are smooth- 
beaten by-paths, which tell of a log school-house back in the 
grove, a hill-side meadow, or some hidden lonely cabin. Way- 
side log cabins and a few frame farm-houses, all widely separated, 
are occasionally seen ; the noise from a sooty blacksmith shop 
attracts attention ; a weird mill rises amid the chestnut trees ; 
while the roar of waters in its rotten flume awakes the land- 
scape. 

The most picturesque location for a house in this valltey, is 
owned and dwelt upon by W. F. Gleason, at present United 
States commissioner for a portion of the western district. It is 
an old homestead site on the round top of a little hill, which 
forms a step, as it were, to the wooded mountain ridge tower- 
ing above it. Before the front of the dwelling, 100 yards away, 
down the hill and across a level strip of land, runs the Richland 
around the edge of a chestnut grove which springs on its oppo- 
site bank. Through the shady grove, beyond the rivulet 
bridges, is the Richland road, up which the traveler will come, 
and (unless he notices the branch path and turns under the 
trees) which he will follow through woodland scenery like that 



314 Beyond Iron Ways. 

described. From the door-yard of the commissioner's unpre- 
tentious dwelling, a mountain-walled picture is presented. Old 
Bald, the Balsams, Lickstone, Wild Cat, Wolf's Pen, and the 
ridge in the rear of the house, whose highest point is the Pin- 
nacle, bend around the valley like the ragged-brimmed sides of 
a bowl with one rather deeply broken nick in the rim through 
which are visible the purple fronts of the Haywood mountains. 
The valley view is too confined to be interesting, and only one 
cabin, the indistinct outlines of an old farm-house, and a few 
acres of cleared land amid the forests, are to be seen. It was 
at this sequestered country home where, for several seasons 
while sojourning in the Alleghanies, we made our head-quarters. 
Of the gorgeous sun-rises over Lickstone, witnessed by us from 
the low porch of the cottage ; of the full-moon ascents above 
the night-darkened rim of the same mountain, — we might write 
with enthusiasm, but with perhaps too tedious detail for the 
reader. 

During one of these sojourns, we roomed in an old frame 
house in the valley, distant about three hundred yards from the 
hill-side place just described. In the early October mornings, 
our way when going to breakfast, was along a beaten path 
through the chestnut grove, where the ground would be cov- 
ered with nuts larger than any which ever find their way to the 
market. Those short walks in the bright, clear mornings are 
indelibly stamped in memory. Again the creaking, wood- 
latched gate of the unpainted mansion closes with a rattle; the 
great piles of waste mica around the shops gleam in the sun- 
shine; the birds twitter in the green vines so heavily clustered 
in the buckeyes that the limbs of contiguous trees meeting, 
form overhead rich arbors for the passers beneath ; the rough 
planks of the bridge across one smooth branch of the stream 
shake under our footsteps ; the chestnut woods, turning yellow, 
drop their dry burrs in our path ; the two long, hewn-top logs, 



Lickstone, Old Bald, and Soco Falls. 315 

with their crooked hand-rail, bridging one of the maddest and 
most musical of mountain streams, tremble as we run across 
them; the bordering alders sparkle with dew-drops; the frame 
farm-yard gate stands shut before us. Over this we leap and go 
chasing up the hill. If the family is still slumbering, a gun is 
taken from its stand beside the chimney ; a whistle given for a 
dog, whose quick appearance, bright eyes, and wagging tail 
show his pleasure; and at the foot of the hill the black-berry 
thickets are beaten, until before the yelping dog a shivering 
rabbit bounds out in sight, whose race is perhaps ended rather 
abruptly 

For mountain parties both Lickstone and Old Bald offer ex- 
ceptional attractions. The ascent of the latter peak and the 
character of the views from .its summit are described in the 
sketch on bear hunting. Lickstone can be easily ascended on 
foot or on horse-back, and is admirably situated for the observer 
to bring within his ken the most prominent peaks of eight sur- 
rounding counties, and see unrolled below him a mountain- 
bounded landscape of beauty and grandeur beyond the power 
of delineation by poet or painter. Lickstone takes its curious 
name from a huge fiat rock near the summit of the mountain, 
whereon the cattle-herders used formerly to place the salt 
brought by them to the stock which range the summit mead- 
ows. On the east slope are located valuable mica mines. 

An interesting day's journey, from Waynesville, is to and 
from Soco Falls. The road can be traveled over by carraige, 
and leads, up Jonathan's creek to its source. The falls are on 
the distant slope of the mountain, sixteen miles from the vil- 
lage. The headwaters of the Soco rise in a dark wilderness. At 
the principal fall, two prongs of the stream, coming from dif- 
ferent directions, unite their foaming waters by first leaping 
over a series of rocky ledges, arranged like a stairway. Into 
a boiling basin, fifty feet below, the stream whirls and eddies 



316 Beyond Iron Ways. 

around, and then, with renewed impetuosity, rushes down the 






■■■■ 




iK,:,i' ,■:/ . -.•■■ r ■■? 

llli 






Wm 



'■■- '--•_ 






gradual descent to the val- 
ley. By following down the • ^ 
road, the traveler will soon 
find himself in the Indian 
reservation. 

One mile from Waynes- 
ville, on the state road to- 
ward Webster, is a level and 
well-cultivated farm of about 
one hundred acres, forming "•» 

a portion of the wide, cleared 
valley between the base of the junaluskas. 

the hills, on one side, and the wood-fringed Richland on 
the other. It is the property of Sanborn and Mears, two 




Westward, Ho! 317 

young men who have lately moved into the mountains. With 
enlarged ideas on farming, they are bringing the naturally rich 
soil into a state of perfection for grain and grazing. A cheery, 
comfortable farm-house stands under the door-yard trees beside 
the driveway. Behind the house the ground rises gradually to 
the oak woods along the summit of the hill. In the front, vis- 
ible from the doorway, is a wide-sweeping mountain prospect. 
The valley, broad, open, level, diversified with farms and for- 
ests, crossed by winding fences and roads hidden by green 
hedges, extends away for two miles or more, to the steep 
ronts of lofty mountains. It is these mountains which so en- 
hance the picture, giving it, morning and evening, soft shad- 
ows, sunlight intensified by shooting through the gap between 
the Junaluskas and Mount Serbal, and a peaceful, pleasing 
slumber, like that of a noble grayhound at the feet of his 
trusted master. A portion of this prospect is given in the 
accompanying illustration. 
" From Waynesville to Webster, twenty miles distant, there 
was no regular hack or stage line running in 1882, but either 
saddle-horses or carriages can be obtained at reasonable rates in 
Waynesville. There are no scenes along the route that the 
traveler would be likely to retain in memory. Hills, moun- 
tains, woods, and farms fill up the way, with no particularly 
striking features. Dr. Robert Welch's farm, about two miles 
from the village, is one which will not be passed unnoticed. 
The large, white residence, white flouring mill opposite, high 
solid fences formed from rocks picked from the roads and fields, 
and level lands of several hundred acres, make up a pleasant 
homestead. 

Webster is an antiquated village, on the summit of a red hill, 
silently overlooking the Tuckasege river. It has a population 
of about 200, and is the county-seat of a large and fertile sec- 
tion of the mountains. About forty-five miles south of the 



318 Beyond Iron Ways. 

village, by the way of the river road, is Highlands, an objective 
point for the tourist. East La Porte is one of the points passed 
on the river. It is a country post, with two stores, a school- 
house or academy, and a few houses. The academy, resem- 
bling a Tell chapel, is situated on a hill-top in a bend of the 
Tuckasege. As this structure rises from the forest-crowned 
hill, around whose base sweeps the sparkling river, with a line 
of distant mountains for its back ground, it is extremely 
picturesque. 

The road up Shoal Creek mountain, on the way to Cashier's 
Valley and Highlands, is noted for its wild scenery. Frail 
wooden bridges span deep ravines echoing with the roar of 
waters ; the road winds at times around the steep side of the 
wooded mountain ; then again it dips down to the margin of 
the stream. The falls of Grassy creek are close in full view at 
one point. The water of this stream in order to empty into 
the larger stream, flings itself over a perpendicular cliff, falling 
through space with loud roar and white veil-like form. 

The stupendous falls of the Tuckasege are near this Shoal 
creek road, but it is not advisable for the tourist to attempt the 
tramp to them by this wild approach. In our last pilgrimage 
up the mountain we attempted it. A few incidents which oc- 
curred on this trip may prove interesting to the reader. The 
artist was with me. Stopping at McCall's -lonely cabin, we 
hired a twelve-year-old boy for a quarter to act as our guide. 
The day was uncomfortably warm. We led our horses up a 
mile ascent, so steep, that in scaling it not a dry spot remained 
on our underclothes. Then we tied the panting animals and 
walked and slid down a mountain side whose steepness caused 
us to grow pale when we contemplated the return. When we 
reached the dizzy edge of the precipice above the thundering 
cataract, the artist, unused to so arduous a journey, was in such 
a state of prostration, that he could not hold a pencil between 



Vicissitudes of Travel. 319 

his thumb and fingers. To sketch was impossible; to breathe 
was little less difficult for him. We rested a few minutes, view- 
ing from above the mad plunge of white waters, and then, with 
the small boy's help, I carried, pushed, and pulled my ex- 
hausted companion up the ascent to the horses. How many 
times he fell prostrate on that desolate mountain slope, stretch- 
ing wide his arms and panting like a man in his last agony, we 
failed to keep account of. 

The last spoonfull of medicine in a flask taken from the sad- 
dle-bags enabled him to mount his horse, and we rode off 
around a flinty mountain with warm air circling through the 
trees and the hollow voice of the upper falls of the Tuckasege, 
seen below us in the distance, sounding in our ears. We 
dragged our horses after us down a steep declivity; passed a 
muddy-looking cabin ; wended through a deserted farm under 
an untrimmed orchard, with rotten peaches hanging to the 
limbs ; startled several coveys of quails from the rank grass ; 
entered a green, delicious forest alive with barking gray squir- 
rels; and then, through several rail fences and troublesome 
gates, reached the sandy road leading into Hamburg, — a store 
with a post office. It is the ancient site of a fort of that name 
erected for use in case of Indian depredations. 

Here we tried to get something to more fully resuscitate the 
still trembling artist, but everything had gone dry ; and all the 
encouragement we received was a cordial invitation, from a man 
who was hauling a log to a neighboring saw-mill, to come and 
spend a week at his house, and he would have a keg of block- 
ade on hand for us. This manner of the mountaineers of invit- 
ing strangers to visit them is illustrative of their warm-hearted 
natures. W. N. Heddin was the logger who extended this 
invitation. I had met him once before while on a tramp 
through Rabun county, Georgia, where he was then living. A 
minute's stop at his house, on that occasion to procure a drink 



320 Beyond Iron Ways. 

of water, was the extent of our acquaintance. His farm was 
situated at the base of a frowning, rocky wall called Buzzard 
cliffs, and although just outside the North Carolina line deserves 
some mention, because of certain interest connected with it. 
This interest is gold. 

The sand in the beds of some of the smooth-flowing rivulets 
down the sultry southern slope of the Blue Ridge have, as 
regards the precious mineral, panned out well in the past. 
Over thirty years ago the stream through Heddin's property 
was discovered to contain gold; and for a time, as he related, 
was worked at the rate of ten pennyweights a day per man. 
After living with the gold fever for many years, he lately sold 
his property, and removed across the Blue Ridge. 

Declining Heddin's proffered hospitality we pushed on, grad- 
ually but imperceptibly ascending the Blue Ridge. I was rid- 
ing on ahead. Suddenly my companion called to me. 

"Say, I've lost my overcoat." 

"Too bad ! Shall we return and search for it ?" 

" No; but its strange how I'm loosing everything." 

"Yes. You lost your pipe yesterday; your breath this 
morning, and now it's your coat." 

"Just so; and do you know, I'm getting demoralized. 
Something worse is going to happen. Say ! " 

"What?" 

"If you hear anything weighing about one hundred and ten 
pounds fall off my horse, turn and come back, will you?" 

"Yes. Why?" 

"You'll know I'm lost. Hang me, but I feel cut up ! " 

The overcoat was not recovered by its owner ; and fortu- 
nately the fall, of which forewarning had been given, did not 
occur. 

We easily ascended the Ridge. Luxuriant forests — perfect 
tropical tangles — spread over the last portion of the way. A 



The Hampton Home. 321 

stream with water the color of a pure topaz flows under the 
rich green rhododendron hedges. Down the slope toward 
Cashier's Valley the road is of white sand, beaten as level as a 
floor. A drive in easy carriage over it with the broad-sweeping 
limbs of the cool trees overhead, would be delightful. These 
woods were filled with insects termed ' ' chatteracks " by the 
natives. Their shrill chirping toward evening is much louder 
than the noise of the locust, and fairly deafens the traveler. 
Locusts also joined in the chorus, giving a concert as melodious 
as it was singular and primeval. 

Cashier's Valley is a mountain plateau of the Blue Ridge, 
3,400 feet in altitude, from four to five miles long and a mile 
and a half wide. Attracted by its climate, freedom from 
dampness, its utter isolation from the populated haunts of man, 
the rugged character of its scenery, and deer and bear infested 
wildwoods, years since, wealthy planters of South Carolina 
drifted in here with each recurring summer. Now; a few 
homes of these people are scattered along the highland roads. 
One residence, the pleasant summer home of Colonel Hamp- 
ton, the earliest settler from South Carolina, is situated, as it 
appears from the road, in the gap between Chimney Top and 
Brown mountain, through which, twenty miles away, can be 
seen a range of purple mountains. A grove of pines surrounds 
the house. Governor Hampton formerly spent the summers 
here, engaged, among other pastimes, in fishing for trout along 
the head streams of the Chatooga, which have been stocked 
with this fish by the Hampton family. 

The sun had hidden himself behind the western ranges, but 
daylight still pervaded the landscape, when through a break of 
the forest of the hill-side around which the road winds, we 
came out before the massive front of a peculiar mountain. 
Whiteside, or in literal translation of the Cherokee title, Unaka- 
kanoos, White-mountain, is the largest exposure of perpendic- 



322 Beyond Iron Ways. 

ular, bare rock east of the Rockies. It is connected, without 
deeply-marked intervening gaps, with its neighboring peaks of 
the Blue Ridge ; but from some points of observation it appears 
isolated — a majestic, solitary, dome-shaped monument, differ- 
ing frorrw. all other mountains of the Alleghanies in its aspect 
and form. *The top line of its precipitous front is 1,600 feet 
y-above its point of conjunction with the crest of the green hill, 
which slopes to the Chatooga, 800 feet lower. The face of the 
mountain is gray, not white ; but is seared by long rifts, running 
horizontal across it, of white rock. With the exception of a 
single patch of green pines, half-way up its face, no visible 
verdure covers its nakedness. 

Below the eastern foot of the mountain spreads away rolling 
valley-land, with hills forest-crowned, fertile depths drained by 
the Chatooga's headwaters, and portions of it laid out in culti- 
vated fields, and dotted with farm-houses. At the base of 
Whiteside, on one of a series of green rounded hills, lives an 
independent, elderly Englishman, named Grimshawe; and near 
by, in a commodious, sumptuously-furnished dwelling, partially 
concealed by a hill and its natural grove, resides his son, a 
pleasant man, with a healthy, English cast of countenance. In 
the dark we passed unseen the latter place ; and, pushing along 
on our dejected and dispirited steeds, fording the cold, splash- 
ing streams, disappearing from each other under the funereal 
shadows of the melancholy forests, climbing the cricket-sound- 
ing hills, we at length drew rein before the almost imperceptible 
outlines of a low building arising under some gaunt trees. 

I dismounted, tossed my bridle to my companion, felt my 
way through a trembling gate, stumbled upon a black porch 
and approached a door through whose latch-string hole and 
gaping slits rays of light were sifting. My rattling knock was 
responded to by a savage growl from an animal whose sharp- 
ness of teeth I could easily imagine, and whose presence I felt 



' '/ Drinks Hit fer Stimilatiou. " 323 

relieved in knowing was within. Then the door opened, and a 
queer looking man stood before me. He was very short in 
stature. His face was thin and colorless. A neglected brown 
moustache adorned his upper lip. His hair was long and un- 
combed ; and his person, attired in an unbleached, unstarched 
shirt and dirty pantaloons, was odorous with tallow. This was 
Picklesimer. 

" Can my friend and I stay here all night?" I asked. 

"I reckon. Our fare's poor, but you're welcome." 

The door swung wider. Several children, fac similes of their 
sire, and a woman were eating at a table lighted by a tallow 
dip, — a twisted woolen rag laid in a saucer of tallow and one 
end of it ablaze. There was nothing inviting in this picture ; 
but a shelter, however miserable, was better than the night ; 
and rest, in any shape, preferable to several miles more of dark 
riding. In a few minutes our supper was ready. Picklesimer 
sat opposite to us and to keep us company, poured out for him- 
self a cup of black coffee. 

"Coffee is good fer stimilation," said he. 

"That's so," said the artist. 

" When I drinks coffee fer stimilation/' he continued, run- 
ning his fingers back through his hair, " I drinks it without 
sugar or milk. " 

We had evidently struck a coffee toper. 

"Do you drink much of it? " inquired my companion, as 
Picklesimer began pouring out another cup full. 

"I drinks three and four cups to a meal. Hits powerful 
stimilation;" and then he rolled his dark, deep-sunken eyes 
at us over the rim of his saucer as he tipped the contents into 
the cavity under his moustache. Evidently he drank coffee as a 
substitute for unattainable blockade. Our host had no valuable 
information to impart ; so, soon after supper we retired to a 



324 Beyond Iron Ways. 

room set apart for us, and sank away for a sound night's sleep 
in a high bed of suffocating feathers. 

After our breakfast the next morning we went out on the 
porch. We supposed Picklesimer, too, had finished his repast, 
but were deceived. A minute after, he followed us with a full 
cup of steaming coffee which he placed on the window-sill, as 
it was too hot to hold steadily in his fingers, and interlarded his 
remarks with swallows of the liquid. His charges were one 
dollar apiece for our lodging, fare, and the stabling and feed 
for our horses. We then shook hands and departed. For days 
his short figure, with a steam-wreathing coffee-cup in hand, was 
before my eyes, and in my ears the words : 

"I drinks hit fer stimilation." 

Horse cove lies in the extreme southern part of Jackson 
county, and within only three or four miles of the Georgia line. 
Its name is about as euphonious as Little Dutch creek, and is 
applied to this charming valley landscape for no other reason 
than that a man's horse was once lost in it. Black Rock, with 
bold, stony, treeless front, looms up on one border, and on an- 
other, Satoola, with precipitous slope, wood-covered, forms a 
sheltering wall for the 600 acres of fertile, level land below. A 
hotel keeps open-doors in summer within the cove. The pic- 
turesqueness is heightened by the sight of an elegant and sub- 
stantial residence, strangely but romantically situated, on the 
very brow of Black Rock. It is the property of Mr. Ravenel, 
a wealthy Charlestonian. 

Through Horse cove there is a road leading to Walhalla, 
South Carolina, the nearest railroad depot, twenty-five miles 
away. It is a decidedly interesting route to be pursued by a 
tourist. You will follow the Chatooga river, into Rabun county, 
Georgia, along a picturesque course of falls and rapids, by 
primitive saw-mills, unworked and decaying, through a wild 
and cheerless tract of uncultivated mountain country, where 



Mounting from a Fence. 3 2 5 

miserable farm-houses, and none others, but seldom show them- 
selves, and where the unbroken solitude breeds blockade whisky 
stills, in its many dark ravines and pine forests. It would 
bother any officer, in penetrating this section, to definitely 
ascertain when his feet were on North Carolina, Georgia, or 
South Carolina soil. 

The road, however, which we wish to take the traveler over, 
leads up the Blue Ridge, in zigzag course, through the forested 
aisles of Black Rock. Three miles and a half is the distance 
from its base to the hamlet of Highlands. The engineering of 
the road is so perfect that, in spite of the precipitousness of the 
mountain, the ascent is gradual. Let the man on horse-back 
pay particular attention to his saddle-blankets while ascending 
or descending a mountain. If he wishes to keep under him a 
horse with a sound back, he will have to dismount every few 
minutes, unbuckle the girth, and slip the blankets in place. 
Among the worst of uncomfortable situations for the horseman, 
is that of being a hundred miles from his destination with a 
sore-backed saddle- animal, which will kick or kneel at every 
attempt to mount. Imagine yourself, at every stopping-place, 
morning and noon, leading that horse to a fence upon which 
you, in the manner of a decrepit old fossil, are obliged to climb, 
to throw yourself with one leap into the saddle. The rosy- 
cheeked mountaineer's, daughter will most assuredly laugh at 
you, and ascribe to inactivity the fact of your inability to mount 
from the ground. A sorry figure ! In every mountain stream 
forded, your steed will kneel to let the water lave his back. No 
chance for dreaming on your part. But worst of all, how dis- 
agreeable must a man's sensations be, over the knowledge of 
the sufferings of the animal under him. Get down and walk 
would be my advice. 

A word more on the subject of saddles and the beasts they 
cover. If it is a mule, see that you have a crupper on him. In 



326 Beyond Iron Ways. 

descending a mountain it is impossible to keep a saddle, with- 
out the restraint of a crupper, from running against a mule's 
ears. At such times, if you have objections to straddling a 
narrow neck which need not necessarily be kept stiff, you must 
walk. A breast-strap is often a valuable piece of harness to 
have with you for either horse or mule. 

On gaining the gap of the mountain the traveler will find 
himself on a lofty table-land of the Blue Ridge, about 4,000 
feet above ocean level. Whiteside, Satoola, Fodderstack, Black 
Rock, and Short-off support it on their shoulders, while their 
massive heads rise but little above the level. From the center 
of the plateau, such of these mountains as are visible appear 
insignificant hills when compared with their stupendous fronts 
and azure-lancing summits as seen from the contiguous valleys 
at the base of the Blue Ridge. This table-land contains 7,000 
acres of rich land, shaded by forests of hard-wood trees and the 
sharp pyramidal-foliaged pines. The streams that drain it are 
of the color of topaz, except where sleepless mills have dammed 
the waters, and, giving them depth without apparent motion, 
have left dark, reflecting expanses, unrippled except when, at 
your approach, the plunging bull-frog leaves his widening rings, 
or a startled muskrat betrays by a silvery wake his flight to a 
sequestered home among the roots of the stream-ward-leaning 
hemlock. 

In the most elevated portion of the center of the plateau is 
situated a thriving hamlet of one hundred or more people ; a 
colony, strictly speaking, above the clouds, and appropriately 
called Highlands. It was founded in 1874 by Mr. Kelsey and 
Mr. Hutchinson, men of the same enterprising and enthusiastic 
mould that all founders of towns in primitive countries are cast 
in. Our first sojourn at Highlands was with Mr. Kelsey in 
1877. Only a few dwellings and as many green clearings were 
to be seen; still, with an arder which to us seemed savor- 



A Queer Subscription List. 327 

ing of monomania, the projector had already laid out by means 
of stakes, streets of an incipient city, and talked as though the 
imaginary avenues of the forests were already lined with peace- 
ful homes and shadowed by the walls and spires of churches. 
His aspirations are being slowly realized. The village, with a 
nucleus of men of the spirit of its founders, is rapidly assuming 
respectable proportions. Along the principal thoroughfare and 
parallel side streets are many pleasant dwellings, culminating 
with one of the cross streets in headquarters comprising a good 
hotel kept by a genial landlord, several stores, the post-office, 
two churches, and a school-house which is kept open for full and 
regular terms. A wide-awake newspaper, on a sound financial 
basis, made its first issue in January, 1883. , 

The farming lands surrounding the village are being settled 
principally by northern families. A railroad at no distant day 
will penetrate this plateau. A practicable route has been sur- 
veyed along the summit of the Blue Ridge from where the 
Rabun Gap Short Line crosses at the lowest gap in the range. 
A subscription list, in the form of enforceable contracts where- 
in each signer has bound himself to grade ready for the ties and 
rails certain sections of the route, has been completed. The 
prospects for the coming of the iron horse are of an encouraging 
character. The most convenient route to reach Highlands for 
the traveler who has not already entered the mountains for the 
summer, is from Walhalla, South Carolina, distant twenty-eight 
miles, on the Blue Ridge railroad. 

The lofty altitude of this plateau, and the precipitous fronts 
of its rimming mountains, bespeak, for its neighborhood, scenes 
of grandeur, — waterfalls, gorges, mad streams, crags, and 
forests which, when looked upon from above, with their appal- 
ing hush, wave back the observer. Whiteside, a few miles from 
the village, is a point which no sojourner in the mountains 
should fail to visit. A sight down a precipice's "headlong per- 



328 Beyond Iron Ways. 

pendicular" of nearly 2,000 feet has something in it positively 
chilling. As the observer to secure a fair view lies flat on the 
grlound with part of his head projected over a space of dread 
nothingness, the horrible sensations created, which in some 
minds culminate in an overpowering desire to gently slip away 
and out in air, are fancifully attributed to the influences of a 
"demon of the abyss." The pure, apparently tangible air of 
the void, and the soft moss-like bed of the deep-down forest 
bordered by a silver stream, have an irresistible fascination, 
especially over one troubled with ennui. Get the guide to hold 
your feet when you crawl to the verge. 

There is a grand mountain prospect from the summit of 
Whiteside. The landmarks of four states are .crowded within 
the vision. Mount Yonah, lifting its head in clouds, is the 
most marked point in Georgia ; a white spot, known as the Ger- 
man settlement of Walhalla, is visible in the level plains of 
South Carolina ; the Smoky Mountains bounding Tennessee 
line the northwestern horizon, and on all sides lie the valleys 
and peaks of the state, in which the feet of Whiteside are rooted. 

The falls of Omakaluka creek, three miles west of High- 
lands, are a succession of cascades, 400 feet in descent. The 
most noteworthy cataract, of the plateau region, is located 
about four miles from Highlands, and known as the Dry Fall of 
the Cullasaja. The name was given, not for the reason of the 
fall being dry, but because of the practicability of a man walk- 
ing dry-shod between the falling sheet of water and the cliff 
over which it plunges. The way to reach it is by the turnpike 
wending toward Franklin twenty-two miles from Highlands. 
This road is smooth as a floor, and runs for miles through un- 
fenced forests, principally of oak and hemlock. After pursuing 
it for three miles, a sign board will direct you to turn to your 
left down a slope. You can ride or walk, as suits your con- 
venience. It is a pleasant ramble along a wooded ridge, be- 



The Cullasaja Falls. 




329 
fore you reach the 
laureled bank of the 
river. Meanwhile the 
solemn and tremend- 
ous roar of the cat- 
aract has been resound- 
ing in your ears ; and 
it is therefore with a 
faint foreshadowing of 
what is to be revealed 
that you pa§s between 
the shorn hedge of 
laurel, to the edge of 
a cliff, below which, 
between impending 
canon walls, fringed 
with pines, leaps the 
waters of the Culla- 
saja, in a sheer descent 
of ninety feet. 

The descent from 
Highlands into the 
level valley of the 
Cullasaja is one pos- 
sessin g 
panoram- 
i c gran- 
deur to 
an extent 
e qui. lied 
by but 
few high- 
ways i n 
the Alle- 
g h a nies. 



330 Beyond Iron Ways. 

Six waterfalls lie in its vicinity. Down the wooded slope winds 
the road, at times sweeping round points, from which, by sim- 
ply halting your horse in his tracks, can be secured deep valley 
views of romantic loveliness. 

On this descent a series of picturesque rapids and cascades 
enlivens the way ; and, in a deep gorge, where, on one precipi- 
tous side the turnpike clings, and the other rises abruptly across 
the void, tumbles the lower Sugar Fork falls. They are heard, 
but unseen, from the narrow road. The descent is arduous, 
but all difficulties encountered are well repaid by the sight from 
the bottom of the canon. 

From the foot of the mountain, on toward Franklin there is 
little of the sublime to hold the attention. From this village 
the traveler en route for iron ways would better travel toward 
the Georgia state line, which runs along the low crest of the 
Blue Ridge. The road winds beside the Little Tennessee, 
following it through wide alluvial bottoms until this stream 
which, thirty miles below, is a wide and noble river, has dwindled 
to an insignificant creek. At Rabun gap you pass out of North 
Carolina. s 

The scenery of the southern slope of the Blue Ridge, in 
Northern Georgia, is justly celebrated for its sublimity and 
wildness. Although outside the prescribed limit of this volume, 
its proximity alone to the picturesque regions of the high 
plateau of the Alleghanies, should entitle it to some notice. 

From Rabun gap it is four miles to Clayton, a dilapidated 
village, consisting of a few houses grouped along a street which 
runs over a low hill. On the north it is vision-bounded by the 
wooded heights of the Blue' Ridge ; on the south, a stretch of 
low land, somewhat broken by ridges, rolls away. It is the 
capital of Rabun county. 

Twelve miles from Clayton are the cataracts of Tallulah. A 
comfortable hotel stands near them. The scenery in their 



The Scenery of Northern Georgia. 331 

vicinity is of wild grandeur. Through a canon, nearly 1,000 
feet deep, and several miles long, the waters of the Tallulah 
force their way. The character of the scenery of the chasm is 
thus described: 

"The walls are gigantic cliffs of dark granite. The heavy masses, piled upon each 
other in the wildest confusion, sometimes shoot out, overhanging the yawning gulf, and 
threatening to break from their seemingly frail tenure, and hurl themselves headlong into 
its dark depths. Along the rocky and uneven bed of this deep abyss, the infuriated 
Terrora frets and foams with ever- varying course. Now, it flows in sullen majesty, 
through a deep and romantic glen, embowered in the foliage of the trees, which here and 
there spring from the rocky ledges of the chasm-walls. Anon, it rushes with accelerated 
motion, breaking fretfully over protruding rocks, and uttering harsh murmurs, as it verges 
a precipice — 

' Where, collected all, 
In one impetuous torrent, down the steep 
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round : 
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad; 
Then whitening by degrees as prone it falls, 
And from the loud-resounding rocks below 
Dashed in a cloud of foam, it. sends aloft 
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.'" 

The other points of interest are the valley of Nacoochee, 
Mount Yonah, the cascades of Estatoa visible from Rabun gap, 
and the Tocca Falls, five or six miles from Tallulah. At 
Toccoa the journey can be ended by the traveler striking the 
Atlanta & Charlotte Air Line. 



A ZIGZAG TOUR. 



Were there, below, a spot of holy ground 
Where from distress a refuge might be found, 
And solitude prepare the soul for heaven ; 
Sure, nature's God that spot to man had given 
Where falls the purple morning far and wide 
In flakes of light upon the mountain side ; 
Where with loud voice the power of water shakes 
The leafy wood, or sleeps in quiet lakes. 

— Wordsworth. 

ALTHOUGH the Alleghanies south of the Virginia line 
have for many years been recognized as a summer 
resort, they have never received due appreciation. The recog- 
nition has been almost wholly on the part of Southerners. The 
people of the North, at the yearly advent of the hot season, 
have had their attention turned to the sea shore, the lakes, and 
the mountains of Vermont and New Hampshire. To go south 
in summer seemed suicidal. Within comparatively late years 
the dissipation of this false impression has begun ; and other 
ideas than hot, sultry skies and oppressive air have been asso- 
ciated in the minds of an initiated few with the contemplation 
of a journey to North Carolina. A knowledge of valleys 3,000 

333 



334 A Zigzag Tour. 

feet high, with mountains around as high again, situated north 
of the thirty-fifth parallel north latitude, has had some effect to 
bring about this change. The climate in such a country would 
naturally be mild, pleasant and invigorating. To avoid being 
statistical the figures of mean, extreme and average tempera- 
tures of different seasons taken with accuracy for a number of 
successive years, will not be given here ; by comparison of the 
table of mean temperatures with observations taken throughout 
the United States and Europe, the climate of Asheville is 
found to be similar to that of Venice, being the same in winter, 
and varying not more than two degrees in any of the other sea- 
sons. The altitude of the entire mountain country; the free- 
dom of its air from dust ; its excellent drainage ; clear skies; 
spring water and invigorating breezes recommend it to the 
notice of invalids, and particularly to those with pulmonary 
diseases. The winters, while more rigorous than those of the 
neighboring lowlands of the South, are extremely mild when 
compared with the temperature of the states north of this 
region. The mountain heights are frequently capped with 
snow, but the fall in the valleys is light ; sometimes the winter 
passing without a snow storm. 

For tourists from the western, north-western and southern 
states, the great line of .the East Tennessee, Virginia & Georgia 
railroad will place them, at Morristown, in connection with a 
branch railway penetrating the heart of the mountains, and after 
a journey across the state line, via Warm Springs and the 
French Broad, will land them in the streets of the capital of 
Western North Carolina. Another route for Southerners is the 
Spartanburg & Asheville railroad leading up from South Carol- 
ina to within eighteen miles of Asheville. The thoroughfare 
for travelers from the eastern and northern states is via the 
Richmond & Danville system of railroads to Salisbury, and 



Resorts of the Piedmont Region. 335 

there changing to the Western North Carolina railroad, which 
now crosses the entire breadth of the Alleghanies. 

The traveler over the Western North Carolina railroad is first 
brought within view of the dim, waving outline of the Blue 
Ridge, as the train rounds a bend just before reaching Hickory 
— a center of trade, spoken of in another connection. This 
village is an agreeable place to spend a few weeks. Many per- 
sons make it the starting place to distant points in the moun- 
tains, while the number amounts to hundreds annually, who 
take the stage here cn-rotite to one of the oldest and most popu- 
lar resorts west of the Catawba- — Sparkling Catawba springs, 
seven miles distant. 

The road leading from Hickory to Catawba Springs, is so 
level and well worked that less than an hour need be occupied 
in the journey. Rolling fields of corn, cotton and tobacco, 
alternating with forests of pine, oak and hickory, line the way. 
On the right the distant view is- bounded by the horizon ob- 
liquely resting upon'an undulating surface;, on the left by the 
ever changing outline of mountain peaks, twenty to forty miles 
distant. The stage at last turns, rumbles down a gentle hill, 
crosses a bright stream, and stops at the entrance gate of the 
resort. While the gate is being opened, there is time for a 
hurried glance at the surroundings. The creek just crossed, 
enters a level plat of smooth-shorn lawn, shaded by large forest 
trees, under which, without order in their arrangement, are 
several low white buildingt^bath houses, tenpin alley and spring 
shelters. Your eye will soon settle upon an interesting group 
around and within a low iron railing which guards the sparkling 
mineral fountain. There are seen, with cup in hand, old and 
middle-aged men and women, heavy-eyed and sallow-faced, 
drinking the health-giving water ; going to and fro, and mingl- 
ing with them are the airy devotees of pleasure — men and 
women ; last but noisest and most numerous are the children 



336 A Zigzag Tour. 

playing and chasing across the lawn. The stage goes a few 
rods further, and then turns into a winding drive, through the 
wooded amphitheater shown in the illustration on page 235. 

Around the semi-circular summit of the hill up which you 
have ridden, is a row of sixteen cottages, containing from two 
to four rooms each. Half way round is a three-story hall 
known among guests as the "Castle." On the extreme left 
are two other large buildings ; one containing the reception 
rooms, and office on the ground floor, the other the kitchen and 
dinning-room, and over them the dancing hall. There is ample 
accommodation in these buildings for 300 guests, and nearly 
that number has occupied them at one time. The grounds 
consist of 250 acres — forest, fields and orchards. 

Every resort has its sunrise views, its sunset views, its lover's 
walks and lover's retreats, flirtation corners and accept- 
ance glens. All these places at Catawba springs are at proper 
distances, and conveniently secluded. The Catawba river is 
one mile away, and Barrett's mountain five. From the sum- 
mit of the highest peak -the entire chain of the Blue Ridge from 
Swannanoa gap to Ashe county is in plain view. Lying before 
it and jutting into its spurs, is seen the whole valley of the 
Upper Catawba. 

The altitude of Catawba springs is 1,200 feet. The prevail- 
ing winds being from the north and west over the mountain 
summits, produce cool climate. Eighty-nine was the maxi- 
mum temperature last season. 

The principal spring which has given to the place its reputa- 
tion as a health resort, contains a . variety of minerals in 
solution. A sparkle is given to the water by the constant ebulli- 
tion of phosphoric and carbonic gases. There are four other 
springs within a radius of fifty steps, one of them being pure 
freestone. 

There is nothing of scenic interest between Hickory and 



Glimpses of Majestic Mountains 337 

Morganton — the oldest village in the mountain district, having 
been founded during the Revolution. It subsequently became 
the home of the leading spirits among the western settlers. 
From a society point of view the town sustains its ancient rep- 
utation for polish and cleverness. The business buildings are 
mostly old, but the avenues are pleasant, and the residences 
inviting. There are" several commanding views of scenery in 
the vicinity, that from the dome of the Western Insane asylum 
surpassing all others in scope. It is a charming panorama of 
cultivated fields, winding rivers, and distant slopes terminating 
in rugged peaks. The asylum building itself is a magnificent 
structure, having a capacity of 400 patients. The grounds 
consist* of 250 acres, mostly covered by the native forest. 

Thirteen miles from Morganton, and two miles off the road 
to Rutherfordton, is Glen Alpine. The building, as first seen 
from the gate of the lawn, might be taken for the villa of a 
capitalist, so homelike is it in appearance. Its capacity is 200 
guests, though the facade view does not indicate a structure 
half so large. Adjoining are small buildings for gaming pur- 
poses. The terrace on which the hotel is situated, is surrounded 
on three sides by slopes stretching from peaks surmounting the 
South Mountain range, the highest being Probst's knob, in the 
rear. That elevated summit affords an extended view in all 
directions. The South Mountain peaks are within range. 
Overlooking the Catawba valley, the Blue Ridge and its spurs 
are seen in perfect outline all the way from Hickory Nut gap to 
Watauga. Above and beyond the Blue Ridge several peaks of 
the Blacks may be counted, and far in the distance on a clear 
sky will be distinguished the hazy outline of the Roan. There 
is a mineral spring in the vicinity of the hotel, which is the at- 
traction for many people afflicted, but by far the largest number 
of guests are pleasure seekers. 

Piedmont Springs hotel, about fifteen miles from Morganton 



338 



A Zigzag Tour. 



in Burke county, is open for the reception of guests during the 
summer months. 

After leaving Morganton, going west, following the Catawba 
river, you have occasional glimpses of Table Rock, Hawk-Bill, 
and Grandfather, on the right, and the frowning Blacks in 
front. Marion is the last town, east of the Blue Ridge, where 
traveling equipages can be procured. It is a pleasantly located 
village, of something less than 1,000 inhabitants, having two 
hotels, a variety of stores, and a newspaper printing office. It 
is from this point that most commercial travelers drive to reach 
their customers at Burnsville, Bakersville and other points in 
Yancey and Mitchell counties. Sightseers, going to the Roan, 
fishermen and hunters, to the Toe or Cane river wildernesses, 
may leave the railroad at this point with advantage. The base 
of the Blue Ridge is only five miles distant. 

--g Leaving Marion, heavy 

:Fi'#.;^H abrades, deep cuts, and a 
H tunnel remind the travel- 
HSI er that he has entered the 
H mountains. His previous 
traveling has been be- 
tween them, through the 
broad valley of the Ca- 
tawba. Henry's station, 
which is merely a hotel 
and eating-house, stands 
at the foot of a long and 
steep slope. By climbing 
bank a short distance, to the 
top of a small hill, opposite the 
building, the observer will, from that 
point, see seven sections of railroad 
on the blue ridge, track cut off from each other by in- 




Tunnels and Picturesque Curves. 339 

tervening hills. If seven sticks, of unequal length, should be 
tossed into the air, they could not fall upon the ground more 
promiscuously than these seven sections of railroad appear 
from the point indicated. 

The elevation to be overcome in passing from Henry's to 
the Swannanoa valley is 1,100 feet, the distance in an air line 
about two miles— the old stage road covering it in a little less 
than three, an average grade of 400 feet to the mile. Of 
course the railroad had to be constructed on a more circuitous 
route, which was found by following the general course of a 
mountain stream, rounding the head of its rivulets, and cutting 
or tunneling sharply projecting spurs. At two places, a stone 
tossed from the track above would fall about 100 feet upon the 
track below ; one of these is Round Knob, the circuit of which 
is more than a mile. The whole distance to the top, by rail, 
is nine and three-quarters miles. The grade at no point ex- 
ceeds 116 feet to the mile, and is equated to less than that on 
curves. There are seven tunnels, the shortest being eighty-nine 
ieet, and the longest, — at the top, — Swannanoa, 1,800. The 
total length of tunneling was 3,495 feet. During the ascent 
the traveler catches many charming glimpses of valley, slope, 
and stream. The view just before plunging into the blackness 
of Swannanoa tunnel is enchanting. A narrow ravine is 
crossed at right angles, between whose canon walls, far below, 
glistens the spray of a small torrent. The background of the 
picture is the delicately tinted eastern sky, against which ap- 
pears, in pale blue, the symmetrical outline of King's mountain, 
sixty miles away. It is an interesting experiment, in making 
this trip, to pick out some point on the top of the ridge, say 
the High Pinnacle, easily distinguished as the highest point in 
view from Henry's ; fix its direction in your mind, and then, at 
intervals, as you round the curves of the ascent, try to find it 
among the hundred peaks in view. 



34-0 A Zigzag Tour. 

After the long tunnel is passed, you are in the Swannanoa 
valley. The next hour takes you rapidly through the fields and 
meadows of this highland bottom, bordered by mighty moun- 
tains, until the train enters the Asheville depot. 

In the center of the widest portion of that great plateau, 
watered by the French Broad and its tributaries, is situated the 
city of the mountains — Asheville, the county-seat of Buncombe. 
To obtain some idea of the location of the place, picture to 
yourself a green, mountain basin, thirty miles in breadth, rolling 
with lofty rounded hills, from the crest of any of which the 
majestic fronts of the Black and Craggy can be seen along the 
eastern horizon ; the Pisgah spur of the Balsams, the Junalus- 
kas and Newfound range, looming along the western ; in the 
northern sky, far beyond the invisible southern boundary of 
Madison, the misty outlines of the Smokies ; and towards the 
south, across Henderson county, the winding Blue Ridge. 
Amid such sublime surroundings, at an altitude of 2,250 feet, 
stands the city on the summits of a cluster of swelling emi- 
nences, whose feet are washed by the waters of the French 
Broad and Swannanoa. Close along the eastern limit of the 
city arises a steep, wooded ridge, whose most prominent eleva- 
tion, named Beaucatcher, affords an admirable standpoint from 
which to view the lower landscape. 

The habitations and public buildings of 3,500 people lie below. 
You see a picturesque grouping of heavy, red buildings, daz- 
zling roofs, a great domed court-house, a white church spire 
here and there, humble dwellings clinging to the hill-sides, and 
pretentious mansions amid fair orchards on the green brows of 
hills ; yellow streets, lined with noble shade trees, climbing the 
natural elevations, sinking into wide, gentle hollows, and dis- 
appearing utterly; — this for the heart of the city, Around, on 
bare slopes of hills, low beside running rivulets, on isolated 
eminences, and in the distance, on the edges of green, encircling 



Asheville. 341 

woods, stand houses forming the outskirts. Three hundred 
feet below the line of the cit)''s central elevation, through a 
wide fertile valley, sweep* smoothly and silently along, the 
dark waters of the French Broad. It is through sweet pastoral 
scenes that this river is now flowing; the rugged and pictur- 
esque scenery for which it is noted lies further down its wind- 
ing banks. At the east end of the substantial iron bridge 
which spans the stream, is the depot for the Western North 
Carolina railroad. From your perch you may perceive, wafted 
above the distant brow of the hill, the smoke-rings from the 
locomotive which has within the past two hours "split the Blue 
Ridge," and is now on its way toward the station. 

If it is a clear, sunny day, the beauty of the scene will be 
indescribable : the city on its rolling hills, the deep valley be- 
yond, and, far away, Pisgah (a prince among mountains), the 
symmetrical form of Sandy Mush Bald, and between them, 
distant thirty miles, the almost- indistinct outlines of the majes- 
tic Balsams. A transparent sky, a mellow sunlight, and that 
soft air, peculiar to this country, which covers with such a deli- 
cate purple tinge the distant headlands, add their charms to the 
landscape. 

In a stroll or drive through the city you will find it remark- 
ably well built up for the extent of its population. If it were 
not for the knowledge of its being a summer resort, one would 
wonder at the number and capacity of its hotels. The Swan- 
nanoa and Eagle, two commodious, elegant, and substantial 
buildings, stand facing each other on the main thoroughfare. 
Several other good public houses, although less pretentious, 
line the same street. There is a busy air about the square be- 
fore the court-house and on the streets which branch from it. 

Men of capital are beginning to locate here. With every 
summer new houses are growing into form on the many charm- 
ing sites for the display of costly residences. The smooth 



342 A Zigzag Tour. 

streets arise and descend by well-kept lawns, orchards, and 
dwellings. A home-like air pervades. There are few towns in 
the United States which, for natural advantages, combined with 
number of population, and pleasant artificial surroundings, can 
compare with Asheville. Besides advancing in commercial and 
manufacturing importance, Asheville will, at no late date, be 
spoken of as the city of retired capitalists. 

As early as the War of 1812, Asheville was a small hamlet 
and trading post. Twenty years after, it received its charter of 
incorporation. Morristown was the original name, which was 
changed, in compliment to Governor Samuel Ashe. The 
county was named in honor of Edward Buncombe. In 18 17 
Felix Walker was elected to the House of Representatives. 
On one occasion, while Walker was making a speech in Con- 
gress, he failed to gain the attention of the members, who kept 
leaving the hall. Noticing this, he remarked that it was 'all 
right, as he was only talking for Buncombe, meaning his dis- 
trict. The expression was immediately caught up, and used in 
application to one speaking with no particular object in view. 

At present, Asheville is the principal tobacco market west of 
Danville, on the Richmond & Danville system, four large 
warehouses being located here. Two newspapers are published 
in the city. The Citizen, a Democratic weekly and semi-week- 
ly sheet, one of the best papers in the state, is the official organ 
of the Eighth district. The News is a weekly Republican paper. 

Among the societies worthy of notice, is the Asheville club, 
comprising about forty members. Its organization is for social 
purposes. A pleasant room has been fitted up for its head- 
quarters, where the members can while away their leisure hours 
in reading and conversation. 

Before the advent, into Asheville, of the railroad, in 1880, 
tourists approached the mountain city by stages from either the 
terminus of the Western North Carolina railroad, at the eastern 



Scenes in and Around the Mountain City. 343 

foot of the Blue Ridge ; from Greenville, South Carolina ; or up 
the French Broad from Tennessee. With the present speedy 
and convenient way of reaching it, the influx of new-comers in- 
creases with every season. Every day during the months of 
July, August, and September, when the season is at its height, 
the business portion of Asheville resembles the center, on market 
days, of a metropolis of twenty times the size of the mountain 
town. The streets, especially before the hotels, are thronged 
with citizens, and the crowds of summer visitors, on foot or in 
carriages, returning from or starting on drives along some of 
the romantic roads. Parties on horseback canter through the 
streets, drawing short rein before suddenly appearing, rattling, 
white-covered, apple-loaded wagons, driven by nonchalant 
drivers, and drawn by oxen as little concerned as those who 
hold the goad or pull the rope fastened to their horns ; the only 
animated member of the primitive party being the dog which, 
in the confusion, having his foot trodden upon by one -of the 
reined-up, prancing horses, awakes the welkin with his cries as 
he drags himself into a blind alley. 

Even in daytime a dance is going on in the Swannanoa ball- 
room on a level with the street. The strains of music from it 
and whirling figures seen from the sidewalk, will be enough to 
clinch the opinion that you are in a gay and fashionable sum- 
mer resort. Every week-day night dances are held at both 
the Swannanoa and Eagle. If you are single, there is little 
doubt but you will participate in this revelry ; if you have 
lost the sprightliness of youth or the happy chuckle of healthy 
later life, in vain you may tuck your head under the pillow and 
vent your empty maledictions upon the musicians and their 
lively strains. 

There are a number of pleasant drives out of Asheville. One 
is on the old stage-road leading up from Henry's, a station for 
a few years the terminus of the slow-moving construction of 



344 -^ ^ l S za §, Tour 

the railroad. You drive or walk down the hill towards the 
south by houses close upon the road and several rural mansions 
back in natural groves. A heavy plank bridge, with trees lean 
ing over either approach to it, spans the slow, noiseless Swan- 
nanoa. Instead of taking the bridge, turn sharp to the left and 
wind with the smooth road along the stream. There is a rich 
pulseless quiet along this river road that is truly delightful. 
At places the vista is of striking tropical character. The bril- 
liant trees, their flowing green draperies, the seemingly motion- 
less river! If you have time, you can follow on for miles until 
where the waters are noisy, the bed shallow, rhododendrons 
and kalmia fringe its banks and the gradual rise of the country 
becomes perceptible. It is the route generally taken from Ashe- 
ville to the Black mountains. Another drive is to the White 
Sulphur Springs, four miles from the city. The way is down 
the steep hill on the west to the French Broad, across the long 
bridge, and by the village of Silver Springs, wliere lately a 
comfortable hotel has been erected. The lands of this village 
being level, close on the river bank and connected by the 
bridge at the depot, afford excellent sites for manufactories. 
The road now leads up a winding ascent, around the outskirts 
of Takeoskee farm (the extensive grounds, overlooking the 
river, of a wealthy Asheville citizen), through woods and culti 
vated lands to the Spring farm. 

Big Craggy is an objective point for the tourist. The easiest 
route to it is via the road towards Burnsville and then up 
Ream's creek, making a morning's drive. A carriage can be 
be taken to the summit of the mountain. 

A portion of the old stage road to Warm Springs is an 
inviting drive. It runs north from the court-house, over the 
hills and then down the French Broad. Exquisite landscape 
pictures lie along the ancient thoroughfare. The country resi 
dence of General Vance will be passed on the way. Peaceful 



An Animated Hub. 345 

farm-houses, surrounded by green corn lands, yellow wheat 
fields, clover-covered steeps, and dark woods, will file by in 
panoramic succession. As late as 1882, the stages pursuing this 
road were the only regular means of conveyance from Asheville 
to Marshal and Warm Springs. The road was as rough as it 
was picturesque. From the fact of its being hugged for miles 
by the river and beetling cliffs, this could not have been other- 
wise. At times the horses and wheels of the stage splashed in 
the water of the river where it had overflown the stone cause- 
ways ; again, boulders, swept up by a recent freshet, rendered 
traveling almost impossible. A considerable portion of the 
road has been appropriated for the bed of the railroad, and all 
that was once seen from a stage-top can now with more com- 
fort be looked upon from a car window. 

Sixteen miles west of Asheville is a model country hotel, at 
Turnpike. For long years it was the noonday stopping place 
for the stages on the way from Asheville to Waynesville. Since 
the railroad began operation it has become a station, and when 
we last came through from the West it was the breakfast place 
for the passengers. It is situated at the head of Hominy val- 
ley, amid pleasant mountain surroundings. John C. Smathers, 
the genial, rotund proprietor, will, with his pleasant wife and 
daughters, render the tourist's stay so agreeable that the in- 
tended. week of sojourn here may be lengthened into a month. 
John C. is a representative country man. What place he 
actually fills in the small settlement at Turnpike, can be best 
illustrated by giving the reported cross-examination which he 
underwent one day at the hands of an inquisitive traveler : 

"Mr. Smathers," said this traveler, "are you the proprietor 
of this hotel?" 

" Yes, sir." 

"Who is postmaster here?" 

" I am." 



346 A Zigzag rour. 

" Who keeps the store ? " 

"I do." 

" Who runs the blacksmith shop ? " 

"Ido." 

" How about the mill ? " 

" Ditto." 

" Anything else? " 

" Well, I have something of a farm, let me tell you." 

' ' And as a Christian ? " 

" I am a pillar in the Methodist church ; the father of thir- 
teen children ; and my sons and sons-in-law just about run the 
neighboring county-seat." 

With a low whistle the traveler surveyed John C. from head 
to foot. 

The trip from Asheville to Hendersonville, Caesar's Head, 
and the mountains of Transylvania should not be omitted by 
the tourist. The first place you pass, on the State road, ten 
miles from your starting point, and twelve from Hendersonville, 
is Arden Park. The estate, consisting of more than 300 acres, 
is owned by C. W. Beal. The unwooded portion is well im- 
proved and under a good state of cultivation. Upon an elevation 
near the center of the farm, is situated the residence of the 
proprietor, and near it the commodious buildings of Arden 
Park hotel, which are annually open for the reception of guests 
during the summer months. 

Surrounded by the ordinary scenes of rural farm life, this 
hotel partakes more of the character of a country house than 
any other in Western North Carolina. The view from the front 
veranda is over an expanse of undulating fields, stretching down 
to the French Broad and rising beyond ; and is bounded in the 
distance by massive spurs of the high Pisgah mountains, be- 
hind which the sun hides itself at evening. More than 100 
acres of the estate is in the native forest, making, with its wind- 



Hendersonville. 347 

ing roads and paths, a pleasant park. The river, only one mile 
distant, will afford the angler an opportunity to utilize his skill 
and the more idle pleasure-seeker many an interesting stroll. 

The park is richly favored with springs, both of mineral and 
soft freestone water. A chalybeate spring, near the hotel, has 
been analyzed, and found almost identical in its properties with 
the famed "Sweetwater," in Virginia. The interior of the 
main building is peculiarly attractive. The parlor, hall, and 
reception room are finished in handsome designs with native 
woods — chestnut, oak, and pine. 

On the main thoroughfare, one mile from the hotel, is the vil- 
lage of Arden, laid out a few years since by Mr. Beal. Upon 
completion of the Spartanburg and Asheville railroad, it will 
be the intermediate station between Hendersonville and Ashe- 
ville. At present both village and hotel are dependent upon 
the daily stage line. 

The visitor to Arden hotel will find it a pleasant home-like 
place. Its surroundings are beautiful, but not grand. It will 
be found an agreeable place to rest and enjoy the comforts of 
wholesome country living. A large percentage of the company 
the past two seasons came from the coast regions of South Car- 
olina. 

Hendersonville is the hub of the upper French Broad region. 
This prosperous village, the second in size west of the Blue 
Ridge, is situated on the terminus of a ridge which projects into 
the valley of the Ochlawaha, and overlooks a wide stretch of 
low bottom lying within a circle of mountains. When the 
county was formed in 1838, a point on the river six miles dis- 
tant was designated as the site of the seat of justice, but a 
more central location was generally desired, and accordingly 
the law was amended two years later and the seat removed to 
Hendersonville. 

The town has a cheerful appearance. The main street is 



348 A Zigzag Tour. 

wide and well shaded by three rows of trees, one on each side 
and one through the center. Several of the business houses 
are substantially and artistically built of brick, giving the 
stranger a favorable opinion of the thrift and enterprise of the 
merchants. A number of handsome residences give additional 
evidence of prosperity. 

The population of Hendersonville numbers about one thou- 
sand. Seventeen stores transact the mercantile business, and 
five hotels keep open doors to the traveling public. As in all 
resort towns, private boarding houses are numerons. The 
moral and educational interests of the community are minis- 
tered to by churches, a public school, and an academy of more 
than local reputation. 

There seems to be a harmony of effort among the citizens to 
make the stay of strangers pleasant, by furnishing them both 
information and entertainment. Several mountains in the vicin- 
ity afford extensive landscape views. "Stony," four miles 
distant, commands the whole Ochlawaha valley and a wide 
sweep of the curving French Broad. The country embraced 
within the view from Mount Hebron is more rugged and 
broken. A good standpoint from which to view the village, 
valley, and bordering mountains is Dun Cragin, the residence 
of H. G. Ewart, Esq. Thirteen miles of plateau and valley 
intervene between that point and Sugar Loaf; Bear Wallow is 
about the same distance ; Shaking Bald twenty-five miles away, 
and Tryon twenty-one. A part of the view is represented by 
the illustration on page 135. 

Sugar Loaf mountain, one of the most conspicuous points 
seen from Hendersonville, has associated with it an historical 
legend of revolutionary times. The Mills family, living below 
the Ridge, were noted tory leaders. Colonel Mills and his 
brother William were both engaged on the royalist side in the 
battle of King's Mountain. The former was captured, and 



Dizzy Railroading — Flat Rock. 349 

afterward hanged by the patriot commanders at Guilford C. H. 
The latter escaped, with a wound in the heel, and made his 
home in a cave in the side of Sugar Loaf, living on wild meats, 
and sleeping on a bed of leaves. There he remained till the 
close of the war when, his property having been confiscated, 
he entered land in the French Broad valley, and became one of 
its earliest settlers. In the cave there are still found evidences 
of its ancient occupancy — coals, charred sticks, and bones. 

Hendersonville is reached by two routes — by stage, from 
Asheville, and by rail from Spartanburg, on the Air Line. The 
latter road, the usual course of travel from the south, in making 
the ascent of the Blue Ridge, does not circle and wind as does 
the Western North Carolina ; but its grade, at places, is almost 
frightful. One mile of track overcomes 300 feet of elevation. 
One bold, symmetrical peak is in view from the train windows 
during most of the journey, and from several points of interest 
in the upper valley. Tryon mountain may be styled the twin 
of Pisgah, and both, in shape, resemble the pyramids of Egypt. 
From Captain Tom's residence, in Hendersonville, both may 
be seen, in opposite directions. Tryon preserves the name of 
the most tyrannical and brutal of North Carolina's colonial 
governors. It was his conduct, in attempting to destroy the 
instincts of freedom, which precipitated the Mecklenburg declara- 
tion of independence in 1775. 

The Spartanburg and Asheville railroad at present terminates 
at Hendersonville. It is partially graded to Asheville, and 
there is some prospect of its early completion. 

The attractions of this section of the grand plateau of the 
Alleghanies, was made known to the coast residents of South 
Carolina about the year 1820. Four years after that date, 
Daniel Blake, of Charleston, pioneered the way from the low 
country, and built a summer residence on Cane creek. Charles 
Bering was the founder of the Flat Rock settlement, in the 



350 A Zigzag Tour. 

year 1828, and made a purchase of land, built a summer resi- 
dence, about four miles from the site of the present county-seat 
and near the crest of the Blue Ridge. His example was fol- 
lowed by Mitchell King and C. S. Memminger, Sr., a year or 
two later. The community soon became famous for refine- 
ment, and the place for healthfulness of climate and beauty of 
scenery. 

The Flat Rock valley is about two miles wide and four miles 
long, reaching from the Ochlawjha to the crest of the Blue 
Ridge, and may be described as an undulating plain. It em- 
braced, before the war, about twenty estates, among others the 
country seats of Count de Choiseue, the French consul-general, 
and E. Molyneux, the British consul-general. The valley, 
until recently, was reached in carriages by the low country peo- 
ple. 

At the opening of summer the planter or merchant and his 
family, taking along the entire retinue of domestic servants, 
started for the cool, rural home in the highlands, where the 
luxurious living of the coast was maintained, to which addi- 
tional gaiety and freedom was given by the invigorating climate 
and wildness of surroundings. Carriages and four, with liveried 
drivers, thronged the public highways. The Flat Rock settle- 
ment brought the highest development of American civiliza- 
tion into the heart of one of the most picturesque regions of 
the American continent. Wealthy and cultured audiences as- 
sembled at St. John's church on each summer Sabbath. The 
magnificence of the ante-war period is no longer maintained; the 
number of aristocratic families has decreased, and some of the 
residences show the dilapidations of time ; yet a refined and 
sociable air pervades the place, which, with the recollections of 
the past, makes it an interesting locality to visit. All who may 
have occasion to stop, will find a good hotel and hospitable 



Buck Forest and Ccesa7~s Head. 351 

entertainment at the hands of Henry Fautice, Esq., an eccentric 
but interesting landlord of the old school. 

From Hendersonville to Buck Forest is twenty miles over a 
fair road. This place derives its name from the fact that the 
hills and mountains in the vicinity are reported to abound in 
deer. Of late years the amount of game has been rapidly de- 
creasing, but even yet a well-organized and well-conducted chase 
is seldom barren of results. Buck Forest hotel is an old-fash- 
ioned frame house, situated in the midst of wild and inviting 
scenery. The traveler will recognize the place by the sign of 
an immense elk horn on a post, and by a line of deer heads and 
buck antlers under the full length veranda. 

From Hendersonville to Caesar's Head is twenty miles. 
There are two roads — one up the valley of Green river, and the 
other to Little river, thence up that stream through^ Jones' gap. 
Caesar's Head is also reached by stages from Greenville, South 
Carolina, on the Air Line railroad, distant twenty-four miles. 
The Little River road leads through the picturesque valley of 
the upper French Broad region. After traversing wide and 
fertile alluvions, the road enters, between close mountain slopes, 
a narrow gorge, through which the river, for a distance of four 
miles, rushes and roars in a continuous succession of sparkling 
cascades and rapids. The most noted point is Bridal Veil 
falls, so named from the silvery appearance of the spray in 
sunlight. It is not a sheer fall, but an almost vertical rapid 
with numerous breaks. On a bright day the colors of the rain- 
bow play between the canon walls. 

Caesar's Head is a place about which much has been written, 
but no pen can describe the overpowering effect of the view 
from that precipice. I shall attempt to give only a few outlines 
to enable the reader, by the aid Of his imagination, to form 
some idea of the bold and broken character of this part of the 
Blue Ridge. 



352 A Zigzag Tour. 

One evening in August I crossed the state line through Jones 
gap, and rode along the backbone of the spur. A dark cloud 
had mantled the mountain tops all the afternoon. So dense 
was it, that the deep gorge of Little river had the appearance 
of a tunnel, reverberating monotonously with the sound of 
falling waters. On the south side of the ridge the cloud clung 
to the ground, making it impossible during the last three miles 
of the ride to see ten feet in any direction. No rain was falling, 
yet drops of water were soon trickling down the saddle and 
the chill of moisture penetrated my clothing. It was fast 
growing dark when a sound of laughter signaled the end of the 
journey. The indistinct outline of a large white house appeared 
a moment later, and on the long veranda sat numerous groups 
of men and women. 

My thoroughly dampened condition must have appealed to 
the sympathies of the manager of the hotel, for I had scarcely 
entered my room when a servant appeared at the door with a 
tray of needed stimulants, after the fashion of the hospitable 
southern planter. Every attention was bestowed upon me, 
and a short time after I was in as agreeable a condition as I 
have ever been before or since. In the journal for the day, 
written up that evening, is this concluding sentence, which I 
had no inclination to change afterwards : ' ' This establishment 
is managed by a man who knows his business, and is liberal 
enough to give his guests what they have a reasonable right to 
expect." 

At daybreak I joined Judge Presley, of Summerville, who 
has spent nine summers here and knows the surroundings per- 
fectly. From an eminence near the hotel, the peaks of the 
Blue Ridge and its spurs can be counted for tens of miles in 
both directions, those in the distance resembling in the morning 
light, parapets of massive castle walls. "Do you see," said the 
Judge, pointing in a northeasterly direction, "that oval line 




BOLD HEADLANDS. 

Table Rock and Caesar's Head, 



On the Brink of the Precipice. 355 

against the sky ? That is King's mountain, on the border of the 
state, seventy miles from here. Now, look the other way, be- 
tween yon pyramid-shaped peaks. There you see what might 
be a cloud. It is Stone mountain, near Atlanta, Georgia, 1 10 
miles distant. You have overlooked an expanse of 180 miles 
of country." 

It was still clear when, an hour later, our party arrived at the 
ledge of rock called Caesar's Head. A strong imagination is 
required to see any resemblance in the profile to a man's head, 
much less to a Roman's of the heroic type. We are inclined 
to believe the story told by a mountaineer. An old man in the 
vicinity had a dog named Caesar, whose head bore a striking 
resemblance to the rock, and being desirous to commemorate 
his dog,- the appellation, " Caesar's Head," was given to the 
rock. But this is a point not likely to be considered by the 
tourist, first dizzied by a glance down the precipice into the 
" Dismal " 1,600 feet below. The view is strikingly suggestive 
of the ocean. Our standpoint was almost a third of a mile 
above the green plain of upper South Carolina, its wave-like 
corrugations extending to the horizon line. Patches of foamy 
white clouds jostled about the surface, and above them, white 
caps floated upon the breeze. The breaker-like roar of cataracts, 
at the base of the mountain, completed the deception. Bold- 
est and most picturesque of the numerous precipitous head- 
lands, is Table Rock, six miles distant. There are several glens 
and waterfalls in the vicinity of the hotel, numerous walks lead- 
ing to views of mountain scenery, and drives through solitary 
glens. The view from the top of Rich mountain is broadest in 
its scope, taking in the Transylvania valley. The "Dismal," 
that is, the apparent pit into which you look from the " Head," 
may be reached by a circuitous route, but the labor of getting 
there will be rewarded only by disappointment. I spent a fore- 
noon climbing down and an afternoon climbing out. It is a 



356 A Zigzag Tour. 

good place for bears to hibernate and snakes to sun themselves, 
nothing more. I was reminded, by this foolish exploit, of a 
paragraph from Mark Twain : 

" In order to make a man or boy covet anything, it is only necessary to make the thing 
difficult to attain. . . Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do, and play 
consists in whatever a body is not obliged to do. This is why performing on a treadmill, 
or constructing artificial flowers is work, while rolling tenpins or climbing Mount Blanc is 
only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England who drive four-horse passen- 
ger coaches, twenty or thirty miles on a daily line, in summer, because the privilege costs 
them considerable money, but if they were offered wages for the service that would turn 
it into work, and then they would resign." 

Brevard, the capital town of Transylvania, is a center from 
which to make several short journeys to scenic points. In 
reaching it from Caesar's Head, take the Conestee road, which 
runs over an undulating plateau declining gently from the base 
of the hills which mark the crest of the Blue Ridge, and then 
down the narrow gorge of the Conestee fork. There are few 
houses to mar the wild beauty of nature. Seven miles from 
Brevard is the waterfall bearing the name of the stream. The 
ruin of a primitive mill is the perfect complement of the natural 
picturesqueness of the scene. The road finally descends into a 
narrow bottom, which gradually widens until it is lost in the 
broad stretch of the level valley of the main stream. 

The village of Brevard consists of about fifty houses. It is 
situated a short distance from the French Broad. The distance 
from Asheville is thirty-two miles ; from Hendersonville, the 
nearest railroad point, a third less. One of the most noted 
places reached from Brevard is Shining Rock, seen from moun- 
tain tops thirty miles distant. It consists of an immense preci- 
pice of white quartz, which glistens in the sunlight like silver. 
The precipice is 600 feet high and about a mile long. Parties 
will find protection from a passing storm, or if need be over 
night, in a cave near the base of the mountain. 

The road from Brevard to Hendersonville runs through the 
widest part of the French Broad valley, and part of the way 



/ Become a "Moonshiner." 35^ 

follows the river bank. The Government has expended $44,000 
in deepening and straightening the channel between the mouth 
of Ochlawaha creek and Brevard. The result is a sixteen inch 
channel for a distance of seventeen miles. A small boat makes 
semi-weekly excursion trips during the summer months. It 
was once pushed as far up as Brevard, but in ordinary stages 
of water, twelve miles above the land-ng is the limit of naviga- 
tion. The road from Brevard to Asheville, is through the val- 
ley of Boylston, at the mouth of Mill's river, and around the 
base of long projecting spurs of Pisgah. 

When near Brevard, just four years ago, while Redmond, 
the famous moonshiner, lived in the neighborhood, and a little 
blockading was still going on in the Balsams, I made a mid- 
night journey, the details of which may be of general interest. 
One afternoon, during a deer drive through the wilds and over 
the rugged heights of the Tennessee Bald, I advanced far 
enough in my month's acquaintance with a fellow, Joe Harran, 
to learn that he was formerly a distiller, and even then was act- 
ing as a carrier of illicit whisky from a hidden still to his neigh- 
bors. 

After the hunt, as we walked toward my boarding-place, I 
expressed a wish to go with him on a moonshine expedition. 
He readily agreed to take me. We were to go that night. 

I retired early to my room, ostensibly for the purpose of a 
ten-hour sleep. At nine o'clock there was a rap at my door, 
and a moment after Harran was inside. He had a bundle under 
his arm, which he tossed on the bed. Said he : 

"The clothes ye hev on air tu fine fer this trip. My pards 
mout tak' ye fer a revenoo, an' let a hole thro' ye. Put on 
them thar, " and he pointed to the articles he had brought with 
him. 

"Is it necessary? " 

"In course. Ef hit war'nt, I wouldn't say so. Ef ye'r 



358 A Zigzag Tour. 

goin' moonshinin', ye must be like a moonshiner. Hurry an' 
jump in the duds, fer we've got nigh onto seven mile ter go ter 
git to the still, an' ef we don't make tracks, the daylight '11 
catch us afore we gits back." 

I took off an ordinary business suit, and a short space after 
stood transformed into what appeared to me a veritable moun- 
taineer, after the manner of Harran, except that my friend had 
granted me a tattered coat to cover the rough shirt, and my 
pants were not tucked in my boots, because the latter were not 
exactly of the pattern most suitable for the occasion. 

" I reckon ye'll do, tho' ye don't look ez rough ez ye mout 
ef yer har war long ; but pull the brim o' the hat down over 
yer eyes, an' I.'low when I tell 'em yer a 'stiller from Cocke 
county, over the line, they'll believe hit, shore." 

We went outside, climbed the rail fence, and found ourselves 
in the road. 

" Hold up, " said Harran, "we mustn't fergit these things," 
and from a brush pile he drew out two enormous jugs and a 
blanket. 

" You don't mean to say," said I, in amazement, as he stood 
before me with a jug in each hand, " that you intend carrying 
those things seven miles, and then bring them back that dis- 
tance filled with whisky ! " 

" In course. I mean that they're goin' to the still an' back 
with us, but I don't reckon me or you are goin' to tote em." 

"What then?" 

" Wait an' see." 

We wound along the crooked valley road for several rods, 
until, in front of a cabin, my companion stopped, sat down his 
jugs, and unwound from his waist something that looked like a 
bridle. 

" Hist ! " said he, in a low tone, " I reckon they be all asleep 



On a Stolen Horse. 359 

in the house. Jist ye stay hyar, an' I'll catch the filly in yan 
lot." 

This was more than I had bargained for. The expedition we 
were on was bad enough, but horse-stealing was a crime of too 
positive a kind. Of course I knew Harran only intended to 
borrow the horse for the evening, but if we were caught with 
the animal in our possession, and going in an opposite direction 
from the owner's farm, what was simply a misdemeanor, might, 
from attendant circumstances, be construed into a crime to 
which no light penalty was attached. But Harran was over 
the fence and had the filly in charge before I could prevent him. 
Talking was then of no use. He had done the same thing a 
hundred times before. He said there was no danger. I was 
not convinced, but, having started, I determined to proceed, let 
come what might. He let down the rails of the fence, led the 
filly through, threw the blanket over her back, and, tying the 
jugs, by their handles, to the ends of a strap, slung them over 
the blanket. 

"Now git up an' ride 'er," said he, "an' I'll walk fer the 
first few mile." 

"No riding for me until I get out of this locality," I an- 
swered. "I have no intention of being seen by chance travelers 
on a stolen horse, with two demijohns hanging before me, and 
in the company of a moonshiner. It would be a little too suspi- 
cious, and next fall there might be a case in court in which I 
would be the most important party. You may ride." 

Harran laughed long and rather too loudly for safety; but see- 
ing I was in earnest, he mounted. We started. It was a clear, 
moonlight night. The air was just cool enough to be comfort- 
able. We followed the country road for four miles without 
meeting a person, and only being barked at once by a farmer's 
dog; then we turned into a narrow trail through a dense chest- 
nut forest. At this point my fellow traveler dismounted and I 



360 A Zigzag Tour. 

filled his place. He walked ahead, leading the way along the 
shaded aisles, while after him I jogged with the two jugs rub- 
bing my knees with every step the horse made. We were to 
ascend and cross the ridge that rose before us, and then wind 
down through the ravines on the opposite slope until we reached 
the still. The top was gained by a steep climb of two miles, 
during part of which ascent the filly carried nothing but the 
earthenware luggage. On the summit we found ourselves in a 
dense balsam forest. 

Down the opposite side, as we descended, even with the 
bright light of a full moon overhead, we were surrounded by a 
darkness, formed by the shadows of the trees, that made the 
path almost imperceptible to me. Harran seemed to have no 
trouble in tracing it. 

"Almost thar, " said the moonshiner, as he slapped my leg, 
while the filly stopped for a drink at a cold, bubbling stream 
coursing along the roots of the laurel : ' ' Now, swar by God 
and all thet's holy, ye'll never breathe to a livin' soul the where- 
abouts o' this hyar place." 

I swore, reserving at the same time all an author's rights of 
revelation except as to the whereabouts. 

"The spot's not a hundred yards from hyar." 

We turned into a ravine, and went upward along the stream. 
The sides of the ravine grew steeper. Suddenly I heard a 
coarse laugh, then caught a glimmer of fire-light, and by its 
blaze, for the first time in my life, I saw the mountain still of 
an illicit distiller. We paused for a moment and Harran 
whistled three times shrilly. 

' ' All right. Come ahead ! " yelled some one. A minute later, 
obedient to this return signal, we had stopped at our destina- 
tion. The ravine had narrowed, and the sides were much 
steeper and higher. The place was well shut in. An open 
shed, roofed, and with one side boarded, stood before us. 



At an Illicit Still. 36 1 

Within it was a low furnace throwing out the light of a hot 
fire. Over the furnace was a copper still, capable of holding 
twenty-five gallons. Several wash-tubs, a cold water hogshead, 
and two casks, evidently containing corn in a diluted state, 
stood around under the roof. Close to this still-house was a 
little locr cabin. The two distillers, who greeted our arrival, 
ate and slept within this latter domicil. The smoke from the 
still curled up through the immense balsams and hemlocks 
that almost crossed themselves over the top of the ravine. 

The two distillers looked smoky and black, and smelled 
strongly of the illicit. They, like my friend, were in their shirt 
sleeves, and dressed as he was. Their hats were off, and 
their long brown locks shaking loosely over their ears and 
grizzled faces, gave them a barbarous appearance. 

" We 'lowed ye would'nt come, Joe, afore to-morrer night. 
Who've ye got thar on the filly?" inquired one of the pair. 

''He? thet's John Shales, a kino' mine. He's started up a 
still over'n the side, an' not knowin' exact how tu run hit, he 
kum a^ong with me tu see yer's an' pick up a bit," answered 
Harran by way of introduction, as I jumped from the horse, 
and he, removing the jugs, tied the animal to a post of the 
still. 

"Thet's all right. Glad to see yer," said the first speaker in 
a hearty, good-natured voice, extending his hand to me for a 
fraternal grasp, which he received, continuing at the same time, 
"My name's Mont Giller." 

"And mine's Bob Daves," sang out the second of the pair 
as he clinched my hand. 

" Hev ye enny o' the dew ready fer my jugs, an' fer my 
throat, which is ez dry ez a bald mounting?" asked Harran. 

"I reckon we kin manage to set yer off," answered Daves. 

One of the casks in the shed was tipped, a plug drawn from 
its top, and a stream like the purest spring water gushed into 



362 A Zigzag Tour. 

a pail set below it. This was whiskey. The jugs were filled. 
Each of us then imbibed from a rusty tin dipper. In keeping' 
with my assumed character, I was obliged to partake with them. 
We took'it straight, my companion emptying a half-pint of the 
liquid without a gurgle of disapproval or a wink of his eyes. 

While the men worked in the light of the furnace fire, and 
talked in loud tones above the noise of the running water flow- 
ing down troughs into the hogshead, through which wound the 
worm from the copper still, I listened and "j'ined" in at inter- 
vals, and this I learned : 

One of the men was a widower, the other a bachelor. It was 
two miles down that side of the mountain to a road. The corn 
used in distilling they bought at from twenty-five to fifty cents 
per bushel, and "toted" it or brought it on mule-back up the 
trail to the still. They had no occasion to take the whisky be- 
low for sale. It was all sold on the spot at from seventy-five 
cents to one dollar per gallon, according to the price of corn. 
Those who came after the liquor, came, as we had, with jugs, 
and thereby supplied the tipplers in the valley, usually^ charg- 
ing a quarter of a dollar extra for the trip up and back — noth- 
ing for the danger incurred by dealing in it. 

The older man, Giller, I noticed, had been eyeing me rather 
suspiciously for some time. His observation made me rather 
uneasy. At last, while I was seated on a large log before the 
fire, Giller approached me, and, as though by accident, brushed 
off my hat. Not thinking what he was up to, as I naturally 
would do I turned my face toward him. 

"By — !" exclaimed he. "Hit's all a blasted lie. You're 
no moonshiner. You're a revenoo ; but yer tricked right 
hyar. " 

1 saw a big, murderous-looking pistol in his hand and heard 
it click. I suppose I threw up my hands. "Hold on, hold 



Antagonistic to "Revenoos." 363 

on!" I exclaimed. "Don't shoot! for heaven's sake, man, 
don't shoot! it's a mistake." 

"Wal, I don't know 'bout thet. We'll hev Harran explain 
this thing while I keep a bead on yer head." 

Of course, Harran and the other moonshiner were by us 
immediately. 

" What's the matter with you, Mont, yer goin' to shoot my 
cousin ? That's a perlite way to treat yer comp'ny. What to 
hell air ye up to?" 

He had grabbed the excited and suspicious moonshiner by 
the arm. 

"Let go 'c me," said the latter, "I know thet man thar is 
no kin o' yours, Joe Harran. He's cl'ar too fine a sort fer 
thet, and ef ye don't prove to me thet he haint a revenoo an < 
ye haint a sneak, I'll shoot him first an' then turn ye adrift 
on the same road." 

Daves, on hearing this speech, surveyed me critically with 
an unfavorable result for myself, and then, in turn, drew ahorse 
pistol, and cocked it swearing as he did so. 

I saw the game was up as far as my being John Shales was 
concerned, so I decided to come out if possible in true colors, 
and also as wholly antagonistic to revenue officers. It took 
some time for an explanation ; but on Harran's vouching in 
decidedly strong terms as to the truth of what I said, they 
lowered, uncocked and slipped their " shootin'-irons" into their 
pockets. 

They were by no means satisfied, though, and we left them 
with lowering countenances and malicious muttering, against 
my companion for daring to bring a stranger into their camp. 

We made a safe trip across the mountain, and at 2 o'clock in 
the morning struck the road. I was riding. 

"Hold on hyar," said Harran. 

I held in the horse. We were before an unpretentious farm- 



364 A Zigzag Tour. 

house. The moon had just disappeared behind the western 
ranges, and the landscape was dark and uncomfortably cheer- 
less, for a chill wind had sprung up. Harran went up to the 
yard fence, reached over and lifted up a jug. He brought it 
to me, shaking it as he did so. A ringing sound came from it. 

"Thats silver," said he. 

*' What does that mean?" I inquired in a curious tone. 

"Why," he returned, while he turned the jug upside down 
in his hat and shook it, "here's two dollars an' a half in dimes. 
I reckon thet Winters wants two gallon o' the dew, an' this 
hoi's two gallon, jist." He said he 'llowed he'd be wantin' 
some soon, an the jug, he sed, would be in the ole place. Ye 
see, now, he'll find hit thar in the mornin' but he'll never know 
how hit cum thar, or who tuk his money." 

"What is the object of being so secret about it?" 

' ' Why, what ef I'm arrested, an' he's hauled up ez a witness. 
What kin he swar to about buying whiskey o' me? Nothin'. 
He'll hev the whiskey all the same though, won't he? Ha, ha!" 

He filled the jug and four others on the way doWn. All had 
money with them, either inside or lying on the corn-cob stop- 
per. It was a cash business. At the proper place he turned 
the filly in the barn lot, and a few minutes after we were at my 
boarding-house. Before we parted for the night — it was almost 
daylight — I reckoned up for him his account of purchases and 
sales for the expedition. He had a profit in his favor of two 
dollars and a quarter, and a little more than a gallon of the 
"dew." All I had gained was experience. 

The ride from Asheville down the French Broad will be to 
the stranger a revelation of the beautiful and sublime. For 
over forty miles you wind through the pent-in valley of the 
river, losing sight of its current only in one or two instances, 
where, for a short space, the skirts of the encroaching moun- 
tains are drawn back, and the track, following close on their 



Down the French Broad. 365 

edges, leaves woods or bare rolling meadows between it and the 
stream. On account of the newness of the bed, and the fre- 
quent sharp curves, the speed of the train is comparatively 
slow. There are other drawbacks to contend against. An 
amusing incident, in which several minutes of time were lost, 
occurred on our last journey down the river. The train had 
just attained full headway, when a man in blue jeans arose in an 
excited manner from his seat, near us, and, grabbing the bell- 
cord, pulled it in desperation. The train came to a stand- 
still. The conductor rushed in, demanding why the signal had 
been given. 

" I got on the wrong train," returned the countryman, leis- 
urely gathering up his satchel, "and I wants ter git off." 

The conductor turned red in the face, and amidst the laughter 
of the passengers, assisted the man to make his departure in a 
hurried manner. 

On the same trip, while we were rounding a bend below 
Warm Springs, the hat of a passenger who was standing on the 
rear platform, was blown from his head. The train was stopped 
for a time to allow the unfortunate man to run back and find 
the relic. He searched until he found it and then regained his 
place. 

For several miles after leaving Asheville, low, undulating hills, 
sloping upward from the river, fill the landscapes. The water 
runs deep and dark around these bends, and no rapids of any 
consequence break the smooth surface of the stream ; but as 
further down you go, sweeping along over the rattling rails, 
piles of huge drift logs, and clusters of Titanic boulders appear 
at intervals, and the country becomes wilder and more rugged. 
The foot-hills begin to roll higher, and with steep, stony fronts 
staring at each other across the intervening space of waters, 
resemble the severed halves of hills thus rent in twain by the 
impetuous river. On, on, the scenery becomes more grandly 



366 A Zigzag Tour. 

wild and beautiful. Now passes an old-fashioned country farm- 
house — extensive portico bordering the front, and huge brick 
chimneys at each end — with dingy barn ; pine log-cabins fast 
falling to decay around it ; rail-fences encircling, and then 
meadows, fields, and forests sweeping back on three sides. The 
old road lies before the fence, and a stretch of white sand, 
shaded by willows and alders, comes down to the restless river. 
Alexanders, a wayside station, has long been known as a sum- 
mer resort. As early as 1826 a hotel, located on the present 
building's site, was the onlv tavern between Asheville and the 
Tennessee line. 

The old man, smoking his pipe of home-cured tobacco, and 
daily sealed on the veranda, has not yet become so familiarized 
with the vision of the iron horse and whirling coaches as to aban- 
don his custom of walking to the gate as the train draws in 
sight. The women appear at the windows ; the inmates of the 
barn-yard disappear behind the out-buildings. 

Then comes a sudden stop to valley scenery, and you are 
passing between frowning walls of clay and rock, forming 
canons. Then across the stream ascends a high*mountain — the 
ancient stage-way at its base, and oak and chestnut forests re- 
ceding upward — with a deep ravine in its front holding the 
waters of a mountain torrent that gleam white through the 
rustling foliage of the steep ; then woods of pine above ; then 
bare precipices, festooned with evergreen vines and mosses, set 
on top with lonely pines, and, above all, blue unfathomable 
space. 

The lower lands are not the only stretches occupied by the 
mountaineers. Rugged steeps, trending hundreds of feet up 
from the river, become smoothed into gentle ascents, and on the 
thin soil, rich from thousands of years of decayed vegetation, 
log cabins expose themselves to view under the shadow of the 
mountain still rising above : — lofty perches for farms and fam- 



Marshall. 367 

lies; unfortunate situations for children; no schools; no society; 
no people for companionship outside their respective families ; 
nothing but the wildness of nature, blue skies, lofty peaks, the 
roaring French Broad — and the occasional fleeting trains. 

Something interesting is to be found in the picturesque village 
of Marshall. Its situation is decidedly Alpine in character. Its 
growth is stunted in a most emphatic manner by these appar- 
ently soulless conspirators — the river, mountain and railroad. 
The three seem to have joined hands in a determination regard- 
ing the village which might read well this way: " So large shalt 
thou grow, and no larger ! " It is sung by the river, roared by 
the train and echoed by the mountain. Sites for dwellings, in 
limited numbers however, can still be stolen on the steep moun- 
tain side above the town. Such a location is unfavorable for a 
man whose gait is unsteady; for a chance mis-step might pre- 
cipitate him out of his front yard, with a broken neck. There 
is no lack of enterprise and prosperity here. The tobacco 
interests of Madison county are extensive, and this village — the 
county-seat — is reaping wealth from this source. 

A continued series of rocky walls and dizzy slopes now borders 
the rail for mile after mile. Their sides are covered with pines 
and noble forests of hard-wood trees, and ivy, grape and honey- 
suckle vines mantle the bare spots of the cliffs. Stretches of 
roaring rapids and cascades become frequent ; green mountain 
islands arise in the center of the stream ; — it is one stern moun- 
tain fastness. The two most noticeable cliffs are Peter's Rock 
and Lover's Leap, both of them overhanging the old turnpike. 
The former was named in remembrance of a hermit, who, as 
legend whispers, lived at its base before the Revolutionary war. 
An Indian legend has it that two crazy lovers leaped into the 
French Broad and eternity from the top of the other massive 
wall. 

Before you can possibly become wearied by this rugged pan- 



368 A Zigzag Tour. 

orama, the mountains on the railroad side of the river, losing 
their foot-hold on the river's margin, draw back, leaving a wide 
pleasant valley. The low ranges bend round it in picturesque 
lines ; the French Broad, with majestic sweep, flows through it ; 
the crystal water of Spring creek, liberated at last from its 
cradling wilderness, passes through bordering groves to empty 
into the larger stream. The train stops at a railway station. 
A cluster of small houses stand on one side of the depot, 
and a little farther down the track are the elegant residences of 
Major Rumbough and Mrs. Andrew Johnson. Across on the 
distant heights, can be seen white dwellings — mountain homes 
in strict sense ; but nearer at hand in the center of the valley, 
almost wholly concealed by the trees which surround it, are 
visible the outlines of a hotel ; it is Warm Springs, the 
largest watering resort in Western North Carolina. 

The main building of three stories, with its side two-story 
brick wing, is 550 feet long. A new and large addition has 
been, within a few late years, built on in the rear. The struc- 
ture presents an imposing front with its wide, high portico sup- 
ported by thirteen white pillars. A green lawn, Avith graveled 
walks and driveways, and set with locust trees, lies before it ; 
and beyond this, in view, flows the river, swift and deep, again, 
churned into rapids, and at either end swallowed by the moun- 
tains. 

In the locust grove and near the banks of the French Broad 
and Spring creek, are the wonderful warm springs. , Bath 
houses are erected over them. The temperature of the water is 
from 102 to 104 Fahrenheit. The baths are invigorating and 
contain remarkable curative properties, especially beneficial for 
rheumatic, gouty, and chronic invalids of all classes. The 
water, although highly impregnated with minerals, is tasteless. 
These springs were discovered in 1785, by a company of Ten- 
nessee militia, while in pursuit of a band of Cherokee warriors. 



The Warm Springs. 



369 



As early as 1786 invalids came here to try the effect of the 
water. Now, in the height of the summer, as many as six 
hundred guests at one time crowd this fashionable resort. 

Lately the Warm Springs property has passed into the hands 
of a company of men well fitted by capital and experience to 
increase the popularity of the place, both as a summer and 
winter pleasure resort and sanitarium. Mr. Gudger. the super- 




CASCADES, NEAR WARM SPRINGS. 

intendent, was for a number of years in charge of the State 
Insane asylum, and is consequently well adapted to the business 
he has entered into. Great improvements are being made in 
the buildings, and every convenience added for the welfare of 
guests. This to the votary of pleasure: The next to the 
largest ball-room in the state is here. 



370 A Zigzag Tour. 

The falls of Spring creek, not far distant up that stream, are 
cascades of marvelous beauty. A number of the surrounding 
mountain summits command magnificent prospects. Deer can 
be started in neighboring fastnesses and driven to the river. As 
a bridge spans the stream directly before the hotel, the pictur- 
esque spots on the opposite bank can be reached. The famous 
Paint Rock is six miles below The spot is well worth visit- 
ing. It is an immense wall of granite arranged in horizontal 
layers projecting over each other in irregular order and tower- 
ing in weird proportions above the road, which lies close at its 
base between it and the river. The rocks present dark red 
faces^, and it is from the natural coloring that the name is taken. 
On some of the smooth-faced layers black-lettered names can be 
deciphered ; some left by Federal soldiers who, during the war, 
swept around this bend and up the river. 

Near here Paint creek comes dashing down between bold 
cliffs to empty into the French Broad. A toll-gate on its banks 
bars the way, and over-head looms Paint mountain, whose sum- 
mit, bearing the Tennessee boundary line, is wound round by 
the road towards Greenville, the old home of Andrew Johnson. 

From the railroad between Warm Springs and Wolf creek, 
in Tennessee, glimpses of some of the wildest scenery of the 
French Broad can be obtained. Cliffs three hundred feet or 
more in height lean dizzily over the river. The most note- 
worthy of these rocky ramparts are termed the Chimneys. 
They are lofty, piled-up, chimney-like masses of stone standing 
out before bare walls of the same rocky exterior. At the first 
bridge below the Springs, Nature has wrought a terrific picture 
of the sublime. The river runs white-capped and sparkling 
below ; the wild tremendous fronts of rocky mountains, seared 
with ravines frowning with precipices and ragged with pines, 
close around. Bending in sharp curves, the railroad pene- 
trates the picture, leaps the long iron bridge and disappears. 



TABLE OF ALTITUDES. 



SMOKY MOUNTAINS. 

Mount Buckley , 6i599 

Clingman's Dome 6,660 

Mount Love 6.443 

Mount Collins .6,188 

Road Gap into Tenn 5.271 

Mt. Guyot (Bull-head Group) 6,636 

Roan, High Knob 6,306 

Beech Mountain 5.54 1 

Elk Knob 5,574 

BALSAM MOUNTAINS. 

Soco Gap. . . 4.341 

Amos Plott ( Junaluskas) 6,278 

Lickstone 5.707 

Deep Pigeon Gap 4.907 

Great Divide 6,425 

Old Bald 5,786 

Devil's Court-House 6,049 

Shining Rock 5,988 

Cold Mountain 6,063 

Pisgah 5,757 



BLUE RIDGE. 

Fisher's Peak, state line 3.57° 

Blowing Rock mountain 4,090 

Blowing Gap 3.779 

Grandfather 5.897 

Hanging Rock. 5.224 

Humpback, Mt. Washington 4,288 

High Pinnacle 5.701 

Swannanoa Gap 2,657 

Bald Mountain 3.834 

Sugarloaf 3,973 

Chimney Rock Hotel r.059 

Saluda Gap 2,300 

Jones' Gap ... .2,925 

Caesar's Head 3.225 

Rich Mountain 3.788 

Great Hogback 4.792 

Whiteside 4.907 

Black Rock 4.364 

Fodderstack 4,607 

Chimney Top 4.563 

Satoola 4,506 

Rabun Gap 2, 168 



BLACK MOUNTAINS. 



CRAGGY RANGE. 



Mitchell's Peak 6,711 

Potato Top 6, 393 

Yeates' Knob 5^975 

Mount Gibbs 6,591 

Balsam Cone 6,671 

Bowlen's Pyramid 6,348 



Big Craggy 6,090 

Bull's Head 5,935 

Craggy Pinnacle 5,945 



Tryon Mountain 3.237 



LINVILLE MOUNTAINS. 



SOUTH MOUNTAINS 



Short Off 3,105 

Table Rock 3,918 

Hawksbill 4,090 



Propst's Knob 3,022 

Hickory Nut Mt 3,306 

Ben's Knob 2,801 



Hibriten (Brushy Mountains.) 2,242 Pilot Mountain. 

King's Mountain 1 ,650 



•2.435 



37i 



372 



Tables. 



NANTIHALA MOUNTAINS. 



COWEE MOUNTAINS. 

Yellow Mountain 5,!33 

Cowee Old Bald „ 4.977 

Rich Mountain 4,691 



Rocky Bald 5,323 

Wayah 5,494 

Nantihala Gap , . .4,158 

Picken's Nose 4,926 Cheowah Maximum 4, 996 



RIVERS. 

Little Tennessee (Tennessee line). . . . .1,114 

Big Pigeon (Fine's Creek) 2,241 

Big Pigeon (Forks) 2,701 

French Broad (Tennessee line) 1,264 

Watauga (Tennessee line) 2, 131 

Broad river (Reedy Patch) I >473 

Mouth Little river 2,088 

Mouth Valley river 1,514 

w. N. c. R. R. 

Salisbury 760 

Morganton 1, 140 

Marion 1,425 

Swannanoa Tunnel 2,510 

Swannanoa Mouth i,977 

Richland Creek (Waynesville) 2,608 

Balsam Gap 3,411 

Scott's Creek (mouth) 1,986 

Nantihala River 1,682 

Red Marble Gap 2,686 

From Professor W. C. Kerr's report of altitudes. The railroad altitudes were obtained 
from J . W. Wilson. Only those mountain and valley heights of particular interest are 
given. 



VALLEY RIVER MOUNTAINS. 

Medlock Bald 5,258 

Tusquittah Mountain 5,3 I 4 

VILLAGES. 

Asheville 2, 250 

Hendersonville 2, 167 

Brevard (about) 2,150 

Waynesville 2,756 

Marshall 1,647 

Burnsville 2, 840 

Bakersville (about 12,550 

Boone 3,242 

Jefferson 2,940 

Murphy 1,614 

Valleytown . . . 1,911 

Franklin 2, i4t 

Charleston i,747 

Quallatown i,979 

Webster 2,203 

Warm Springs. 1,326 



AREA OF COUNTIES. 

(From State Report.) 



Square miles. 

Alleghany 300 

Ashe 450 

Buncombe 620 

Burke 400 

Caldwell 450 

Catawba 370 

Cherokee 500 

Clay. 160 



Square miles. 

Henderson 360 

Jackson 960 

McDowell 440 

Macon 650 

Madison 450 

Mitchel 1 240 

Polk 300 

Swain 420 



Cleaveland 420 Transylvania 330 

Forsyth 340 Watauga 460 

Graham , , 250 Yadkin 320 

Haywood 740 Yancey 400 



Tables. 373 

POPULATION OF THE WESTERN COUNTIES, 1880.* 



Total. 

Alleghany S1486. 

Ashe 1 4A37 ■ 

Buncombe 21,909. 

Burke 12, 809 . 

Caldwell 10,291 . 

Catawba 14, 946 . 

Cherokee , . 8, 182 . 

Clay 3.3 l6 - 

Cleaveland 16,571 . 

Graham 2,335 • 

Haywood 10, 171 . 

Henderson 10,281. 

Jackson 7>343- 

McDowell 9,836 . 

Macon 8,064. 

Madison 12, 810 . 

Mitchell 9.435 • 

Polk 5, 062 . 

Rutherford 15, 198 . 

Surry 13,302. 

Swain 3.784. 

.Transylvania 5,340. 

Watauga 8, 160 . 

Wilkes 19, 181 . 

Yancey 7.694. 



Colored. County-seats. 

. . . 519 Gap Civil 

. . 966 Jefferson 196 

..3,487 Asheville 2,116 

. . . 2,721 Morganton 861 

. . 1,600 Lenoir 206 

. . 2, 477 Newton ... f 583 

• • 386 Murphy...*. i 7Q 

.. 141 Hayesville m 

..2,871 Shelby gg Q 

. . 212 Robbinsville 47 

. . 484 Waynesville 225 

. . 1 ,388 Hendersonville 554 

• • 75 2 Webster 107 

. . 1, 897 Marion 372 

. . 669 Franklin . 207 

. . 459 Marshall 175 

. . 503 Bakersville 476 

..1,144 Columbus 71 

. .3,288 Rutherfordton 

. . 2 ,075 Dobson 

. . 550 Charleston 

. . 517 Brevard 223 

. . 746 Boone 167 

. . 1 ,924 ...... Wilkesboro 200 

. . 325 Burnsville 



United States Census Report 



MONTHLY, SEASONAL, AND ANNUAL MEAN TEMPERATURES FOR A 
PERIOD OF YEARS AT SEVEN STATIONS, AND THEIR AVERAGE FOR 
THE WESTERN DIVISION. 



Name of Station. 



Asheville 

Bakersville 

Boone 

Franklin 

Lenoir 

Murphy 

Highlands 

Western Division 



52J37 



O 

8" 2 



6% 



3 
2% 



374 



Tables. 



AVERAGE MONTHLY, SEASONAL AND ANNUAL MAXIMA, MINIMA AND 
RANGE OF TEMPERATURE FOR A PERIOD OF YEARS AT FOUR 
STATIONS AND FOR THE WESTERN DIVISION. 



Name of Station. 



Asheville. 



Boone . 



Lenoir. 



Murphy. 



Western Division. 



Maxima. . . 
Minima. . . 
Range .... 

Maxima. . . 
Minima . . . 
Range 

Maxima. . . 
Minima. . . 
Range 

Maxima. . . 
Minima. . . 
Range 

Maxima. . . 
Minima. . . 
Range . . . 



636571 
io'io 12 

53|55S9 



57,58 

4 6 

53 52 



61 



33 



64 



53 



6467 
53 



63 



53 



82838685 
424961 57 
40^3425 28 



48 



75:8i 
38 50 
37 3 1 



47 



30 



8175 
45 29 
3646 



6156 

25 3 * 



07 



49 



6 s 



54 



63 



7° 



82 



3 2 



53 



"9 34 03 



75 



63 



35 



S 7 



6% 



COMPARATIVE TABLE OF MEAN TEMPERATURES. 



Year. 



Spring 



Summer. 



Winter. 



Western Division 

Asheville 

Bakersville 

Paris, France 

Dijon, France 

Venice, Italy 

Boone, North Carolina. 
Munich, Germany 



53 

54 
52 
5 1 
S3 

55 

49 



52 
53 
5i 
5 1 
53 
55 
47 



70 

72 
7i 
65 
70 

73 
68 
64 



5 2 
54 
5 2 
52 
53 
56 
48 
49 



37 
38 
36 
38 
35 
38 
3* 
32 



The tables of temperature given are taken from Dr. Kerr's State Geological_report. 




' 



t&mmkmmmmmmmmmimmmmmmmmmmmm 



WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA 

By DR. \Y. C. KERR, State Geologist. 

1883. 

L sed by permission of tlie Slate Board of Agriculture. 

(Engraved especially for this book.)" 

Scale. 




ml 





ASHEVILLE, N. C. 



AVERAGE TEMPERATURE. 



TEL 



Jan. 
38.1 



Feb. 

39-8 



Mch. 

44-7 



April 

53-9 



May 
61.5 



June I July 

69.1171 -9 



Aug. 

70.7 



Sept. 
63.3 



Oct. I Nov. 
52.943.8 



Dec. 

37-3 



Location 35 deg. 36 min. N. lat. 2,250 feet above the sea. 




mt. pisgah (5,763 feet above sea), view from swannanoa hotel. 

The recent additions and improvements to the ' ' Swannanoa Hotel " have made it com- 
plete in all its appointments, and the owners and proprietors, Rawls & Carter, are de- 
termined that it shall always maintain its rank as the leading and largest hotel in Ashe- 
ville. The Swannanoa is now kept open the year round. Northern visitors to Asheville 
for the winter and spring months, as well as for the summer, who stop at the Swannanoa, 
have their wants carefully studied and attended to. The rooms and halls are large and 
well ventilated for the summer, and yet arranged to be well heated in the winter. Superb 
views of surrounding mountains from the rooms and porches. Mountain, Well, and Cis- 
tern Water, Hot and Cold Baths, Electric Annunciator, Laundry, Barber Shop, Billiard 
Rooms, and Telegraph Office across the street, are some of the comforts of this popular 
resort. In the summer, a band of music is engaged for the entertainment of the guests. 
Headquarters also for capitalists seeking investments, and other business men visiting 
Asheville. Eor cut of hotel see page 211. 

For further particulars, apply to the owners and proprietors, 



RAWLS & CARTER. 



375 



EDWARD J. ASTON, 



Real Estate and Insurance Agent, 



Asheville, North Carolina. 



GRAIN, 

STOCK AND 

TOBACCO 

FARMS, 



ADDRESS 

WALTER B. GWYN, 
LAND AGENT., 

Asheville, 
North Carolina. 



MINES. 
MILL PROP- 
ERTY, TIM- 
BER LANDS. 



MARTIN & CHILD, 
REAL ESTATE AGENTS, 

Asheville, North Carolina. 

For the sale of farming, grazing and timber lands, mines, mill property, city property, &c. 

Strict attention given to titles. 

All properties placed with this agency for sale fully advertised ftee of cost in this coun- 
try and in Europe. Parties wishing to buy or rent property of above description, write 
for descriptive circular and price list. 

FRED. C. FISHER 

ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, 

Waynesville, Haywood county, North Carolina. 

376 



For fine Stereoscopic Views of 

"THE LAND OF THE SKY ' 

OR 

The Beauties of Western North Carolina, East 
Tennessee and Northeast Georgia Scenery, 

SEND TO 

NAT W. TAYLOR, 
Photographic Artist and Publisher of Steroscopic Views. 

One dozen mailed to any address for $1.50, post paid. 
Send for Catalogue. 

SILVER SPRINGS HOTEL. 

J. L. HENRY, ESQ., Proprietor. 

(On the West side of the French Broad, near the Ashe- 

ville Depot.) 

This Hotel possesses all the conveniences and advantages of a suburban location, and 
complete appointments. 

The verandas afford pleasing views in every direction. Within the large lawn are sev- 
«ral mineral springs — Iron, Sulphur, and Magnesia. See illustration on page 

Arden Park Hotel. 

10 miles from Asheville, 12 miles from Hendersonville. 

Supplies all the attractions and conveniences of 

A RURAL HOME, 

Reached by daily stages from both Asheville and 

Hendersonville. For particulars address 
Arden Park Hotel, Arden, North Carolina. 

FLEMING HOUSE, 

JOHN T PATTERSON, MARION, 

Proprietor. McDowell, Co., N. C. 

The largest and best 'hotel in McDowell county arranged for the accommodation of 
summer boarders. Good livery attached. Sample rooms and other conveniences for 
business men. 

377 



Sparkling Catawba Springs, 

CATAWBA COUNTY, N. C. 
THIS FAVORITE WATERING-PLACE WILL BE 

OPEN. MAY FIRST, TO SELECT GUESTS. 

Situated 55 miles northwest of Charlotte, 60 miles west of Salisbury, and 6 miles from 
Hickory, on the Western N. C. Railroad, in the shade of the Blue Ridge. The location 
has special advantages, bsing surrounded by a beautiful and extensive woodlawn of native 
growth and carpeted with green. The bracing mountain atmosphere, with the health-re- 
storing properties of their waters, render these Springs a most desirable resort for INVALIDS 
and Pleasure Seekers. 

The Mineral Waters embrace 

BLUE AND WHITE SULPHUR AND CHALYBEATE, 

and from the known benefit derived by well attested cures in their use as an alterative and 
tonic influence over the lymphatic and secretive glands, they are unsurpassed, and never 
fail to increase the appetite, the digestion and assimilation, thereby imparting tone and 
health to the person. 

BY THE USE OF THESE MINERAL WATERS, 

Diseases of the Liver, Dyspepsia, Vertigo, Neuralgia, Ophthalmia or Sore Eyes, Paraly- 
sis, Spinal Affections, Rheumatism, Scrofula, Gravel, Diabetes, Kidney and L'rinary 
Diseases, Consumption and Chronic Cough, Diarrhoea, Constipation, Piles, Asthma, 
Diseases of the Skin, Tetter, Indolent Ulcers, Amenorrhoea, Dysmenorrhcea, Leucorrhcea, 
General Debility, Sleeplessness, and Nervous Prostration, from mental and physical ex- 
cess, have disappeared. 

Analysis 0/ Water: Spring No. 1. — Chlorine, Carbonic Acid, Silica, Phosphoric 
Acid, Alumina, Sulphuric Acid, Magnesia Oxide, Lime (trace), Iron (trace), Magnesia, 
Soda Salts (large), Lithia, Potash, Bromide. Spring No. 2. — Chlorine, Silica, Phosphoric 
Acid, Alumina, Arsenic, Sulphuric Acid, Oxide Magnesia, Soda Salts, Potash, Bromide, 
and Magnesia. Spring No. 3. — Chalybeate. Spring No. 4. — One of the finest Freestone 
Springs in the State. All within the grove but a short distance from each other, etc., etc. 

The improvements consist of two large three-story buildings, and fourteen cottages, 
capable of accommodating, comfortably, 300 persons. 

All the Amusements usually furnished at first-class watering-places, will be found here. 
A good supply of Ice always on hand. 

PLUNGE, SHOWER, WARM SULPHUR, TURKISH, HOT AIR, and MEDI- 
CATED VAPOR BATHS, Furnished when desired. 

Another Mineral Spring has recently been discovered one mile from this place, which 
Visitors will have the benefit of. 

% BOARD: §30.00 Per Month. Deductions Made for Families. 

REDUCED RATES Have been Arranged on all Railroads to this Point. 

'How to Reach the Springs: Take the Western N. C. Railway at Salisbury to Hickory; 
take Carolina Central Railroad to Lincolnton, thence the Chester Narrow Gauge to New- 
ton; take the Charlotte, Columbia and Augusta Railway to Statesville, thence the West- 
ern N. C. Railroad to Hickory; or take the Chester and Lenoir Narrow Gauge at Chester 
or Gastonia, to Newton. Good conveyances will be at Newton and Hickory for passen- 
gers on the arrival of each train. 

Dr. E. O. ELLIOTT, Proprietor. 

378 



MclNTOSH & CO., 



DEALERS IN 



DRUGS, MEDICINES, and CHEMICALS 

PAINTS, OILS, VARNISHES, DYE-STUFFS, 
ETC., CHOICE PERFUMES. 

PURE WINES AND LIQUORS 

FOR MEDICINAL USE. 

FRENCH AND AMERICAN POLISHED 

PLATE AND WINDOW GLASS. 

FINE CANDIES AND DRUGGISTS SUNDRIES. 

Highest Cash Price Paid for ROOTS, HERBS, SEEDS,, etc. 
Waynesville, N. C. 

379 



HAYWOOt) 
WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS 

Near Waynesville, N. C. 

OPEN ALL THE YEAR. 

THE MOST PICTURESQ UE PL A CE IN NOR TH CAR OL1NA 

2,716 Feet Above Tide-water; 32 Miles West of As/ieviile, 

A Delightful Summer Resort, 

In the Very Midst of thf Great Balsam Mountains. Terms Reasonable. 
PLACES OF INTEREST AROUND THE SPRINGS. 



NAME. 



Altitude 
in feet. 



Number 
of miles. 



Waynesville, C. H 

Love's View 

Spring Hill 

Mount Maria Love (Rocky Knob) about. . 

Jonathan's Creek (trout stream) 

Cataloochee (trout stream) 

Tennessee Line 

Indian Nation 

Soco Falls, about 

Soco Gap, about , 

Soco (Bundle's) Bald 

Bunches Creek Falls 

Scott's Creek, 8 miles; Balsam Tunnel 

Crab-tree Bald, about 

Chambers' Mountain, about 

Pisgah 

T. Lenoir's Farm 

Pigeon River 

Pigeon River Ford 

Cold Mountain 

Lickstone Mountain (carriage road to top). 

Caney Fork, Balsam, and Great Divide 

Mount Serbal (Westner's Bald) 

Mount Junaluska (Plott) 

Mount Clingman, about 

Mount Buckley, about 

Webster, 20 miles; Franklin 

Hendersonville 

Charleston, Swain County 

De Hart's Springs 

Micadale 



2756 
2950 
2850 
5000 
3000 
2500 
2000 
2300 
4000 
4250 
6200 
4000 
3200 
6000 
5000 

5757 
2800 



6063 
5800 
6425 
6100 
622*5 
6690 

6650 

1900 
2167 
1700 
1600 
3000 



at the place 

at the place 

1 

6 to 10 

20 

32 

20 

16 

15 
18 
20 

7 
foot 13, top 16 

9 

18 

12 

6 to 12 

I2j£ 



foot 3, 



top 5 

top 50 

top 52 

40 

45 

38 



Splendid drives all around the Springs. Scenery not surpassed, if equalled, east of 
the Rocky Mountains. 

W W. STRINGFIELD, Proprietor. 

Waynesville, N. C. 

380 



TSAR'S -EAD -OTEL, 



SITUATED UPON 



CESAR'S HEAD MOUNTAIN 

A spur of the Blue Ridge, in Greenville county, South Car- 
olina, 3,500 feet above Tide Water. Climate unsurpassed, 
Scenery varied, grand, and beautiful. The thermometer ranges 
during the hot months from ^o° to 70 . Freestone and Chaly- 
beate Springs. Temperature 5 2° to 54 . Twenty-six miles 
north of Greenville, South Carolina, and twenty-four miles 
west of Hendersonville, North Carolina. Easily reached by 
daily hacks from either place, over good roads, which have 
been lately improved. A Post Office at the Hotel, and daily 
mail. Accommodations good, having been enlarged and im- 
proved. Terms moderate. Billiards, nine-pins, and other 
amusements for guests. A resident physician. See author's 
notice. 

F. BARTOW BEVILLE, E. M. SEABROOK, 

Superintendent. Proprietor. 

381 




The 



Pre-eminently Popular. 

WHEELER& WILSON'S 

Standard Sewing Machine. 

SILENT, r\ 

WIFT, 1\T^ W 

imple, \n A 

UBSTANTIAL 1 \| \J t \_) 



Wheeler & Wilson Manufacturing Company, 
North Main st., Asheville, N. C. 

' SOMETHING CHOICE! 

Lovers of the weed, who enjoy a really good smoke, should 
always ask for Holmes' Golden Leaf, Holmes' Land of the 
Sky, Holmes' Pisgah. These brands are manufactured from 
the celebrated Tobaccos grown in Western North Carolina, free 
from all perfumeries, adulterations, or impurities, and are prized 
for their Superb Smoking Qualities. Ask your dealer for 
Holmes' Tobacco and take no other. Orders from the Trade 
Solicited. E. I. HOLMES & Co., Proprietors. 

Asheville, N. C. 



J, A, FRANK'S 

CHARLESTON HOTEL, SWAIN COUNTY. 

A comfortable house neatly furnished. 

HEADQUARTERS for TOURISTS and BUSINESS MEN. 

THE FRANKLIN HOUSE. 
Franklin, Macon county, North Carolina. 

A warm welcome and comfortable entertainment for all travellers; a good livery stable 
connected, stages and carriages sent to any point. Horses and mules bought and sold. 

D. C. CUNNINGHAM, proprietor. 

382 



THE 
^^ESTERN ]\J ORTH QAROLINA J^ AILROAD 

CONNECTS: At Salisbury, N. C, with the Richmond and Danville Railroad. At 
Statesville, N. C, with the Charlotte, Columbia and Augusta Railroad. Also, at Paint 
Rock, with the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia Railroad. Thus offering an All 
Rail Route from NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, and WEST, to 

"THE LAND OF THE SKY." 

TRAVERSING THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SCENERY ON THIS 

CONTINENT 



jf3P = During the Summer season, Excursion Tickets can be 
Purchased at all the Principal Cities. 

A. B. ANDREWS, V. E. McBEE, 

President. Supet intendent. 

M. SLAUGHTER, General Passenger Agent. 

THE HERREN HOUSE, 

Altitude 2,770 feet, 

A, L. HERREN, PROPRIETOR, 

WAYNESVILLE, N. C. 



House new. Located centrally. The proprietor will give 
his undivided attention to his guests. Saddle-horses and teams 
furnished guests. Prices moderate. 

383 



M D. LEGGETT, Prest. 
G. W STOCKLY, Vice Prest. and Treas. 
Business Manager. 




WM. F. SWIFT, Sec'y. 
N. S. POSSONS. Stit. 
W. J. POSSONS, Ass't. Sopt. 

THE 

BRU$fi GLG^CRIiJ dX). 

Late Telegraph Supply Co., manu~ 
facturers of 

Brush Electric Light Ma- 
chines, Lamps and 
Carbons. 
Brush electro-plating ma- 
chines and apparatus, and 
storage batteries. 

Office 379 Euclid avenue. 
Works, Mason street crossing 
C. & P. R. R. 

CLEVELAND, 0. 

U. S. A. 



TURNPIKE HOTEL 

BUNCOMBE COUNTY, N. C. 

This is the oldest established resort west of Asheville. It is 

located on the W. N. C railroad, and amid lofty mountains. 

A pleasant place for summer sojourners and their families. 

Mineral and free-stone springs on the farm. Rates moderate. 

JOHN C. SMATHERS, Proprietor. 



WAYNESVILLE HOTEL 

WAYNESVILLE, N. C 

In the center of the village. A new building, with new 

furniture throughout. Rates moderate 

JOHN C. SMATHERS, Proprietor. 
384 




13* 


c 







ft 




c 


4 


O 


O 


c 


< 


C) 




<-t 


•■"i 


3 




cr 




" 


p 

-! 


tr 


x 


3 


T3 


o 






£ 




fD 


<i) 




n 






i-h 


3 




P 


O 
3 




>-h 






(i) 


K*. 




^ 


3 




k». 


c 




3 


ft 




C > 






O 


to 




<-t- 


3 




o 


fL 




13 






aq 


n 




12 


3 



The New Fire-froof Traction Farm Engine, 

MANUFACTURED BY 

D. JUNE & Co., FREMONT, OHIO. 



WESTERN HOTEL, 



(Formerly Bank Hotel) 



ASHEVILLE, N. C. 



H. K. RHEA, Proprietor. 



The Western Hotel is situated on the Public Square, in the 
very center of the city. It has lately changed proprietors and 
under the present management the best accommodations at 
reasonable rates will be afforded tourists and commercial 

travelers. 

38s 



Hot and Warm Springs Hotel, 

WARM SPRINGS, MADISON COUNTY, N. C. 

J. H. RUMBOUGH, W. W. ROLLINS, H. A. GUDGER, WARM SPRINGS COMPANY. 




H. A. GUDGER, Manager. 

First class Hotel open all the year, as a great summer and winter resort for invalids 
and pleasure seekers. Bathing pools unsurpassed, temperature 102 to 104 F. Fine 
Hot Spring for drinking, 117 F. Accessible by railroad from Tennessee and North 
Carolina. Resident physicians, beautiful mountain scenery, mild and equable climate, 
fine fishing and hunting, fine band of music, finest ball-room in the South (just completed), 
billiards, ten-pin alley, croquet, electric annunciators, new and full supply of spring mat- 
tresses — in fact, a thorough renovation and refurnishing make it unsurpassed by any water- 
ing place in the South. 

This powerful Mineral and Electric water effects speedy and radical cures in almost 
all cases of Chronic and Sub-Acute Gout and Rheumatism , Dyspepsia, Torpid Liver, 
Paralysis, Afflictions of the kidneys Scrofula, Chronic Cutaneous diseases, Neuralgia, 
Nephritic and Calcelous disorders, Secondary Syphilis, and some other diseases peculiar 
to females. 

The railroad depot is within one nundred yards of Hotel, and passengers landed at 
that point from Tennessee and North Carolina. A Telegraph Office, in communication 
with all points, is also on the grounds. Visitors will find many attractions added since last 
season, and the manager will see personally to the comfort of his guests, and will spare 
neither pains nor expense to make them comfortable. The table is made a specialty, and 
is supplied with all the delicacies of the season. • 

RATES OF BOARD: 

Per month of four weeks, $40 to $60 according to location of room and accommoda- 
tions required. 

Per week, from $15 to $17.50. 

Per day, $2.50. 

Children under 10 yeais of age and colored servants half price. 

Special rates made with families. 

For further information apply to H. A. GUDGER, Manager. 

March r, 1883. Warm Springs, N. C. 

386 






■■<(, 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




